


To My Lost Innocence

by KMO27



Series: Love Letter or Suicide Note [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Adolescent Sexuality, Adult!Stucky, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Artist Steve Rogers, Asthma, Asthma Attacks, Awesome Sarah Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Boys In Love, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Catholic Steve Rogers, Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Depressed Steve Rogers, Depression, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, Feels, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forced Masturbation, Forced Prostitution, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Friends to Lovers, Great Depression, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Growing Up Together, Hand Jobs, Harm to Children, Homophobic Language, Homosexuality, Hurt Steve, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Intimacy, Light Dom/sub, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Virginity, Love Letters, M/M, Making Love, Male Homosexuality, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mild Angst, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Naked Cuddling, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Period-Typical Homophobia, Physical Abuse, Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Porn With Plot, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Preteen/Teen!Stucky, Project Rebirth, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Guilt, Revenge, Sassy Steve Rogers, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Abuse, Shower Sex, Slang, Steve Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Swearing, Teenage Bucky, Teenage Steve, Teenagers, Threesome - F/M/M, Top Bucky Barnes, Underage Drinking, Underage Prostitution, Underage Sex, Verbal Abuse, Virgin Steve Rogers, Voyeurism, War Era, World War II, children to adults, domestic abuse, heart problems, kid!Stucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-08-03 20:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16332719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMO27/pseuds/KMO27
Summary: Not much is known of Steve before 1942 and he likes it that way.When asked about his father, he says he died of mustard gas in WW1 before he was born.When asked about his mother, he says she was the model American woman of her time.When asked about Bucky, he says he couldn't have asked for a better best friend, seeing him like the brother he never had.Those become the short truths of his past when Steve became Captain America....too bad these truths ain't worth shit.WARNING:This story involves talk of self-harm and suicidal tendencies as well as depictions of panic attacks and rape/nonconsent.Rape scenes are there to show character's anxiety about the situation and not for sexual content. I will place warnings for rape scenes but nothing else since there will be elements in every chapter. This IS your warning.





	1. Anybody have a Map? (1926-1930)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Haze](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457212) by [AgentRaichu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentRaichu/pseuds/AgentRaichu). 
  * Inspired by [Red Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14091468) by [sarahyellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow). 
  * Inspired by [Little Lies to Get Me By](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1603526) by [OhCaptainMyCaptain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhCaptainMyCaptain/pseuds/OhCaptainMyCaptain). 



> Get ready for a dark one, folks.  
> Those who read my other work already know this, but this was brought on by current events in my life. Last week my baby sister attempted suicide. This struck a cord in me. My sister and I are a matching pare medically, and she's always been the stronger on.  
> Writing, even dark stuff, has always helped me cope so this will be more than intertainment for me. Just like Steve, I'll be pulling up both my sister's and my demonic past to add in because I'd fucking crual to the charactors I write with.
> 
>  
> 
> ["Anybody have a Map?"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=--F-nTJM4kQ) is the song for this chapter. I feel Sarah Rogers and other parents of disabled children could relate. My own mom sure does! It's own of her favorites.

**September 1926**

 

Steve's father, Joseph Rogers was portrayed at suave gentlemen in the public eye, always wearing a pressed tan jacket and leather shoes. His dirty blond hair was always slicked back with tonic and he'd wear more cologne than most women wore perfume. He worked at a bank and made a decent wage to support his lovely wife, Sarah and their ten-year-old boy. To the public, they were exactly what a Christian American middle-class family household should be; polite charming, marketable, and respectable.

That was another story behind closed doors.

 

 **November 25th, 1928  
**  

The first time Steve had tried to kill himself had been when he was twelve. It had been impulsive, sudden. What broke out in the Rogers home wasn't the first fight and wouldn't be the last.

 

Joseph had drunk too much that night and lashed out at poor Sarah. Steve doesn’t even remember the reasoning this time; could have been that the dinner wasn’t cooked just right or pent-up rage from work. Steve tried to get between them but with his small frame and lack of muscle mass, he didn’t stand a chance when his father knocked him aside, kicking him in the face and gut. His father had a wide look in his brown eyes as he shoved a heavy foot over Steve's fragile chest and pressed down. Steve’s breathing became shallow and wheezy as his lungs were restricted of oxygen.

His mother attempted to plea for his safety, “Please stop it! His asthma...you’ll hurt him.”

Joseph pushed Sarah away and gave her a slap, “Shut it, you dumb broad. He ain’t so dainty if he’s askin’ for it,” he pressed harder making Steve see stars and choked out a cry, “Ya got somethin’ to prove, boy?”

Steve grabbed on to his father’s shoe and tried to move the heavyweight but his strength failed him. His mother was on her knees begging, “Please...he can’t have another asthma attack. The doctor-”

Joseph grabbed her by her blonde hair, forcing her to look up at him. Steve could smell the liquid and mud from his boots, “Since ya to keen to be on your knees, why not make yourself useful? Go on, bitch. Suck me off and if ya nice, I’ll let the brat go.”

The hell Steve was going to sit by and watch this but the more he squirmed, the harder the foot of his chest pressed. He was forced to watch his poor mother, the sweetest person he knew, take in his asshole of father’s prick. Tears poured down her face as she was forced to suck the man’s cock. When she saw Steve looking she pulled away, saying, “Please-don’t watch-”

But his father yanked on her golden hair and forced her back into submission, “No. Watch your whore of a mother. This is what happens when ya disobey me, ya fuckin’ cunt. This is all ya good for.”

“Ya son of a bitch!” Steve swore furiously. He tried to frantically kick at his father’s other leg but all he managed to do was annoy him.

Joseph raised an eyebrow, “ Ya always were a pathetic excuse for a son, even more so a man. Why bother? Unless ya plan on takin’ her place.”

His father was right. What kind of man was he if he couldn’t protect the one person who loved him unconditionally?

“I’ll do it!” Steve wheezed out at best he could, “Just let her go!"

Joseph spat at his, "You'd like that. Wouldn't you, ya fuckin' fairy. Good thing my tastes don't lean that way."

 

In a rush of grief and adrenaline, Steve grabbed an old rope from his father’s toolbox that night and found a beam on the fire escape to support his weight. He didn’t think it through all the way; the rope was too old and thin. The plan was doomed to fail. The rope only held for a few painful seconds before snapping.

 

**November 26th, 1928**

He covered the bruises around his neck with his worn scarf, blaming the winter air so Bucky and his mother’s feeling could be spared. His father had noticed the missing rope however and only managed, “So ya couldn’t even do that right?”

 

A sort of haze began to settle about Steve after that night. It crept into his mind like a morning fog but it wouldn't lift even when the sun was out. He continuously put himself in front of his mother but he no longer cared if he got hurt. He felt like his emotions were numbing. He didn’t even so much as cry when he was getting plummeted by his father’s fist.

 

**December 1928**

The only reason it stopped was that Sarah had enough after Steve’s visit to the hospital surrounding his broken arm and fractured ribs. She packed up her things and took Steve away from that hellhole. Steve’s mother had been so strong to go out into the world as a single mother. They had no extended family for help so she picked up extra shifts at the hospital. They scraped by but they could be through it.

With his father out of his life, Steve felt he had no reason to feel...apathetic. He wasn’t a punching bag anymore. He had the most amazing mother taking care of him and greatest friend having his back….but the haze remained.

Steve felt he had fallen into a tar pit and was too tired to crawl out. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t things be alright? Was he so selfish that he couldn’t be content with his life?

He couldn’t talk to anyone about it. It was the 20s, emotions were for dames. Men could handle themselves. His father was wrong; he was a man and he didn’t need help. He couldn’t even tell his mother, who was so stressed and busy with work, so he didn’t want to bother her.

Didn’t mean she wasn’t smart.

 

**February 11th, 1929**

“Ah sweetie, these are beautiful,” Sarah peered over the kitchen table to see the sketches Steve was working on and thrown away out of frustration early. She uncrumpled the eggshell paper to a drawing of a young man with dark hair and eyes, “Oh gosh, is this James? You two are growing too fast.”

Steve gave a half-hearted smile and returned to his drawing.

Sarah washed the dishes before putting them away, “Where is he anyway? You two always hang out Friday nights.”

Steve shrugged, “Got a date. Uh-Betty, I think.”

“That boy is mighty popular with the ladies. Why don’t you ask out that gal you like, oh what’s her name? I can never remember the girl's name, ah Ellie and ya’ll double date.”

“She ain’t interested,” Steve answered flatly. Ellie had been a lie to make his mother think he was normal. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in dames; it’s just no one will give him the time of day so he doesn’t bother to develop crushes. He’d only get hurt but how could he tell his mother that.

“Ah, honey, she don’t know what she’s missin’. Any gal would be lucky to go steady with ya,” Sarah wiped down the table and pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple.

“Ma,” Steve grimace, embarrassed.

Sarah took his hand and sat with him. Steve was nervous by the sad smile that plays on her lips and creases on her forehead, “Steve, I know things have been rough but I was thinkin’ this thing called highs and lows. It’s a way we can know about each other's day. One good thing to cheer on and one bad thing that needs support.”

Oh no. His mother wanted to talk about feelings. He must’ve slipped up. _Shit_.

“Ya wanna try?”

Steve really didn’t but he knew his mother just wanted to be closer to him. He figured it was harmless as long as he’s careful about it and doesn’t slip up. He puts his pencil down, “Sure, why not?”

Sarah’s smile brightened the room and it dispersed the cloud over Steve’s head every so slightly, “Great! Why don’t cha start, honey?”

Steve thought. He did  _not_ want to tell her that he got into another fight with Jonathan Anderson when he tried to grope Susan Parker at lunch and now has a massive, purple bruise on his side or that Bucky had to step in for both him and Susan so he made a lie, “My low is...I have a lot of homework and...uh… my high is I have the best ma ever?”

Even he cringed at how ridiculous he sounded. Sarah sighed, “Ya got into another fight again, didn't cha?”

Steve looked away. The haze thickened in her disappointment, “He was pickin’ on a dame. I ain’t standin’ by on that,” Steve tried to defend himself.

“Oh, Steven,” she brushed his bangs away, “Always playin’ the hero…”

Steve knew she hated it when he fought but he couldn’t help it. He got a rush from it; calmed the raging war in his head. It was easier dealing with physical brawls compared to mental. It made him feel like he was useful...or that he...just deserved it.

 

**April 1929**

Something was wrong with him. He felt like he was drowning in syrup. He couldn’t swim through the thick sap to the surface so he was forced to watch life go on. One day, if accidentally stepped on his pencil sharpener and the blade escaped. He didn’t know what drew him to do this but he drew a red line across his wrist. He hissed at the pain but it also brought along some relief. He felt something other than the mist that hung over his head.

It became a habit to cut into his arm. There was something comforting about the way the blood wheld up and trickled down his arm. It was like his bodies own way of mourning as he didn’t allow himself to cry. However, soon the little lines weren’t enough to get rid of the haze the swarmed above him.

 

**May 1929**

He had to dig deeper into his wrists to receive any satisfaction- no, relief. Soon his little pencil sharpener went dull so he dug through his belongings for the pocket knife his father had given him when he was nine when he’d still had hope in his sickly son’s performance through puberty. The searing sensation was just another dose alongside Steve’s asthma and heart medication.

 

**June 1929**

Steve had to be careful as the summer months came around. First off, he couldn’t roll up his sleeves without showing his scars. Second, with school out and his mother always at work, he’d usually stay with the Barneses. However, he felt too ashamed of himself to see his best friend and his family lately. It’s like the haze wouldn’t allow him to seek happiness.

 

**July 8th, 1929**

“Hey, Steve. Wanna catch a picture this weekend?” Bucky asked one day as they walked from a dinner they’d treated themselves to, “I think there playin’ “Hell’s Angels”.”

Steve forced a smile, “Nah. Not really in the mood, ya know.”

Bucky nodded, nonchalantly kicking a tin can out of his path, “Alright. What’cha got in mind?”

Steve shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Don’t know. I wanna work on some sketched done.”

“God forbid ya ever get artist block,” Buck teased, “Mind if I join ya?”

Steve snorted, “You can’t draw for shit.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know but I could model for you.”

Steve gave Bucky a look, “Ya hate modelin’ for me. You always sayin’ ya can’t sit still and will neva do it again.”

“Ah c’mon. I ain’t that bad,” Bucky swung an arm around Steve. Bucky was already taller than Steve but not too noticeably, “Just wanna spend time with my friend. I haven’t gotten to see ya much this summer.”

Guilt dug through Steve’s stomach and his healing cuts started to itch. He unconsciously began scratching his arm, “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I’ve been tryin’ to get a job.”

This wasn’t a full lie. Steve needed to help his mother out and he was the man of the house now. He couldn’t afford to sit on his ass all day. He’d tried to get work at the docks and a grocery store but they took one look at his small frame and laughed.

Bucky nodded, but didn’t look satisfied, “You better be stayin’ away from that Lucky Stripes factory on Lafayette.”

“But I-”

“No. No. _No,_ ” Bucky poked him in the sternum each time, “Ya hear me? With your asthma, that place could kill ya.”

Steve stuck out his chin, looking up at his best friend, “I can handle myself.”

“Never said ya couldn’t but we both know ya ain’t got self-preservation skills.”

Steve knew Bucky was right- more than he even knew- but refused to give his friend the satisfaction so he just kept marching on as though Bucky hadn’t said anything. He could hear Bucky heave a sigh behind him, “You’re a little shit, Rogers. Ya know that?”

“And you’re an overprotective asshole,” Steve snarked back.

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

 

**August 16th, 1929**

Steve ended up getting a job as a newspaper boy. His boss said he’d only hired him because his sickly appearance was worth sympathy points from the ladies. Steve didn’t dare sink down that level and “use his assets”. He tried to keep up with the other boys but that usually ended badly as they saw him as competition. Steve ended up getting in a fight with two of the other kids off the clock.

It wasn’t even a fair fight; both guys were more than twice his weight. He’d tried to fight back but he was no match. Steve heard a crack as a fist made contact with his nose. They left him in a crumpled mess in the back alley.

Steve picked himself off the ground and stumbled his way home. This mother no longer overreacted when Steve came back to their shitty apartment half broken.

“Hi, Steve, how was your d-” Sarah’s eyes widened before sighing in disappointment, “Oh, Steven.”

Steve looked down at worn out shoes, “‘M sorry, Ma.”

Sarah put down the dishes and strolls over and pulled Steve into a hug, “Oh, what am I gonna do with ya?”

“Don’t know,” Steve mumbled into her chest. He hated disappointed his mother. She hated when he fought but he can’t stand bullies.

“C’mon,” Sarah lightly patted Steven arm, “Let’s getcha patched up.”

Sarah brought Steve over to the couch and got the first aid kit. She started cleaning his bruised face, broken nose, and bloody knuckles. Sarah hummed a little tune as she wiped away dirt off his cheek and blood from his busted lip, “So what’s the other guy looks like?”

Steve gives a half smile, “Oh, ya know, pretty much the same,” that’s a complete lie.

“What happened this time?”

“Hey, it ain’t my fault this time. Guys don’t like me at work.”

“Ah, how can someone not like you?”

Steve shrugged, “Because ‘m a stubborn asshole.”

“Language.”

Sarah finished wrapping his knuckles, “There. Did your arms get scraped up?”

“No!” Steve jerked away, startling his mother, “No- I mean, I’m okay. They're okay.”

Sarah frowned, “...Alright.”

 

**August 17th, 1929**

Bucky didn’t have the same calm reaction Steve’s mother had. Bucky randomly came through Steve’s bedroom window using the fire escape. Steve still had his bandages on his face and hands, as his mother had insisted.

If Steve didn’t know better, he’d have though Bucky would slug him, “Steve, what the fuck?”

Steve folded his arms, “What?”

“What ‘cha mean what?! Your face is all busted up. Is your nose broken?,” Bucky stepped towards Steve’s cot.

“Maybe,” Steve didn’t look away. His mother could make him feel guilty because she was better than him. Bucky, on the other hand, was just as terrible as him; at least when it came to picking fights...okay, that was a lie but Bucky wasn’t running for Jesus like Sarah Rogers.

“Dammit, punk. Ya just can’t help yourself, can ya?”

Steve scowled, “Hey, I didn’t start it this time.”

Bucky’s attitude immediately changed, “What?”

“Yeah, some of my coworkers jumped me after work,” warm blond started to trickle from Steve’s damage nose again. He took his handkerchief from his back pocket and added pressure, in the hopes it would stop bleeding again. Steve saw Bucky’s worried expression, “It’s nothin’. I’m fine.”

His voice was nasally considering he was pinching his nose shut.

“Who were they?”

Steve glared at Bucky, “Bucky, don’t.”

“ _Who_ were they?”

“No.”

Bucky let out what sounded almost like an annoyed growl, “Dammit, Steve. Just tell me. You don’t got to know what’ll happen.”

“They’re no one, Buck. Really, ‘m alright.”

_Don’t waste your energy on me_

Bucky let out a startled “What? Why wouldn’t I, ya lug?”

Steve bit his lip at his slip up. He hadn’t meant Bucky to hear that. Bucky didn’t need him to hear about his self-loathing. Emotions; messy stuff. Therefore, he tried a more light-hearted response, “‘Cause _I_ already beat the crap out them. Ya should’ve seen it. You’ve been proud.”

Bucky ran his fingered through his hair and sat next to Steve, “Oh, Stevie, whadda ‘m gonna do with ya?”

Steve snorted, “That’s what my Ma asked to.”

“How’d ya answer?”

“Told her, I didn’t know.”

Bucky let out a dry laugh, “Yeah, uh huh. What’s your real answer?”

“Gonna have’ta put me in a straight jacket to keep me outta trouble. Both you an’ I know that.”

Buck chuckled, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulder, “Might have’ta with the way you act sometimes, punk.”

Steve just smiles and leaned into Bucky. They had known each other since they were six so moments like this weren’t uncomfortable anymore. They actually met by Bucky saving Steve from getting his ass kicked by some fourth graders on the playground. Typical.

They stayed there in silence for a while. The two boys ended up lying in Steve’s bed with him curling into Bucky, taking his place as the little spoon. Steve knew they were getting to that age where it wasn’t really social appropriate to cuddle up with anyone like this, especially another boy but he didn’t care. It didn’t seem that Buck cared either as he unintentionally tangled his long muscular legs with Steve’s little skinny ones. So far, puberty had been a lot kinder to Bucky than it had with Steve, though Bucky still couldn’t grow a beard.

Steve stuck his head in Bucky’s neck and could smell a musky scent mixed in with smokes and Mrs. Barnes's apple pie. The smell soothed Steve; reminding him he wasn’t alone. Steve felt almost at peace; the stark silent in his head wasn’t so scary with him around. Bucky had a way of making the haze clearer, even if it’s ever so slightly.

Steve ended up falling asleep briefly, curled into Bucky. When he woke up, Steve found himself hugging Bucky’s torso like a damn koala bear. Bucky was leaning against the old headboard reading a comic; how Bucky managed to reach it without waking Steve, he’ll never know.

Bucky’s grey eyes peered down at him from his comic, a smirk curling his lip.

Steve narrowed his baby blue eyes, suspicious, “What?”

“You’re fucking adorable with that bed hair, Rogers?”

Steve’s face lit up like a fire hydrant as he tried shoving his laughing friend off the cot, “Shut up!”

Bucky kept on laughing, abandoning his comic as he tumbled to the ground, “Oh no! He got me. I’m done for!  Thou art has taken thee life. You must go on without me!”

“Jesus, you’re really yuckin’ it up,” Steve rolled his eyes, self consciously finger combing his blonde hair into place, “Every considered Hollywood?”

Bucky propped his chin in his hand and stared up at Steve from the ground with his trademark smile that spelled trouble for the ladies, “Well, I do have the rugged good looks for it.”

Steve took his sorry excuse for a pillow and threw it at Bucky, “Modest much?”

 

**October 29th, 1929**

The New York Stock Market collapsed. Steve was one of the first to know since he was selling the paper. He spent most of the day shouting the headlines. He came home a dollar twenty-five richer.

 

**December 1929**

Steve tried not to get sick; he really did. He’d tried to stay indoors bundled up as his mother said but work forced him outside for hours at a time. Steve had worn his old jacket and tattered gloves and scarf but that didn’t stop him from coming home one day with the sniffles.

The sniffles turned into a cold which turned into a flue with a 105-degree fever. He was bedridden for almost two weeks with no medication considering prices had skyrocketed after the crash. His mother tried herbal remedies and soups for nutrition. When it snowed, Sarah would compact the snow into a towel and lay it across Steves blazing forehead. It helped but the heat flashes were getting unbearable. Sarah had stacked all the blankets, towels, and jackets on top of Steve when the heat when out during Christmas.

“Ma, you can’t,” Steve had croaked in his dry voice, “You need to stay warm too.”

Sarah just shushed him saying she was plenty warm in her winter jacket, though both of them knew it was a lie.

 

**December 30th, 1929**

Steve woke from Bucky climbing through his window. Really it was the bump and “Fuck!” that woke him.

Bucky rubbed the back of his head before giving a lopsided smile to Steve. Steve scowled, “Ya shouldn’t be here. You’ll get sick too.”

“Good ta see ya too, Stevie,” Bucky carefully plopped a drawstring down on the bed. Steve heard a clink of metal and cocked his head confused.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” Bucky patted the bag, “Just some stuff to help ya feel better. Need ya back at school by the second. I can’t go another day without my partner ‘n crime in that hell hole.”

Steve grounded, “Bucky, you really shouldn’t-” he was stopped by his wet coughing. Bucky rushed over and started rubbing circles on his back.

"It's okay, Stevie. I gotcha."

Sarah rushed into the room at that point with a handkerchief and a glass of water in tow. She handed it to Steve who took it to cover his mouth. She looked up and saw Bucky, “James, I didn’t expect you to do here.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Bucky pulled the metal container out of the bag and handed it to Sarah, “We had some extra vegetables and chicken last night so we whipped up a soup. Nothin’ fancy but it’s good for sickness.”

Steve’s mother looked so touched by the gesture, her blue eyes watered and mouth parted, “Oh, James.”’

“It’s nothin’, Ms. Rogers,” Bucky patted Steve’s leg through the many blankets, “Can’t let my buddy go anywhere without me.”

Sarah smiled, “Why don’t cha help me heat this up and stay for dinner?”

“I don’t mean to intrude-” Bucky started

“I insist,” Sarah jutted out her chin the same way Steve does when he’s at the point where changing his mind is impossible. Steve tried to smile at the defeated look of Bucky’s face but went right back to coughing.

“Hey, sweetie. Drink your fluids,” Sarah swapped the handkerchief with the glass and watched as Steve gulped it do, “Slowly,” Steve transition to sips.

****

Bucky stared as a water droplet traveled don’t the column of Steve’s neck that was already sheened with sweat. His cheeks were flush and his fringe was matted to his forehead. Buck studied the breathing pattern and noticed it was faster than normal.

Bucky hated seeing Steve like this. He should be used to it since Steve got sick at least once every winter but it never got better. Every year might be the little guy’s last. Bucky couldn’t understand how someone so fragile could take so much; then again it was Steve. Steve was the reason the phrase “tiny but fierce” was created.

“How ‘bout ‘cha come help me, James?” Bucky was jolted back to reality as Sarah motioned toward the kitchen.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Sarah’s smile stayed on her face until Steve was out of sight. The moment the pot was put on the stove, she collapses, hands over her face. Bucky dropped to his knees, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Sarah let out a soft, broken sob, “I-I don’t- I don’t know i-i-if he’s gonna m-make it.”

Fear shot through Bucky like a bolt of lightning. This was Sarah Fucking Rogers. She was the strongest woman Bucky knew, even over his own mom. She’d left her abusive husband with no money to her name to start a new life and she had never cried in front of him in all the years he’d known her.

Adults were supposed to be strong, an all-knowing beacon of hope to children. Bucky was at the age when he knew good and well that his parents didn’t know everything but that illusion haven’t ever been scattered before about Sarah.

Bucky gulped, “W-What makes ya say that?”

Sarah held out the handkerchief Steve had used. It was speckled with bright red blood.

It was like someone had shot him in the gut; it hurt so much. He stared at Steve’s door as Sarah babbled, “H-He’s had this before but Joseph was able to pay for the medication. I went down to the pharmacy again yesterday they said it was ten dollars per bottle. I-I don’t have the money. Whadda ‘m gonna do, James? I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Bucky leaned down and pulled her into a hug until she composed herself. There was nothing else he could really do. Bucky pulled out his own handkerchief his father insisted he carried and handed it to her. “Thank you, James,” she sniffed, “You really are a good friend to him. I don’t where he’d be without you. All he does when you’re no around it lock himself in his room and he’s always so sad. It's not right for a boy his age. I-I just I-”

Bucky thought for a moment before whipping out a quarter and placing it in Sarah’s palm, “For the medicine.”

Her blue eyes widened, “James, you shouldn’t. It’s your money.”

“And I wanna spend it know my friend with get well.”

 

Bucky didn’t leave after dinner. He walked  right back into Steve’s room, “Scoot over, punk.”

Steve’s blue eyes were dull and weary but he was still an ass, “Bucky, no. You’ll get sick.”

“Fuck that. I ain’t leavin'. So unless you want your best pal sleepin’ on the floor tonight, move.”

Reluctantly, Steve turned on his side as he continued to cough Bucky stripped out of his shirt and got on the cot, pulling to blankets around Steve. Sure, Bucky is cold but he’s an oven compared to Steve who needs the body heat. He pulled Steve’s shivering body up against him and listened to his ragged breathing until he fell asleep.

 

**January 2nd, 1930**

Steve was only getting worse and worse. He knew what the blood meant though a doctor had come by and declared it not to be tuberculose. It didn’t need to be but it was still a death sentence. Steve had wanted to die for so long that he almost welcomed it.

He just wished it’d be a quicker way out. He hated seeing his mother and Bucky so worried all the time. It was like he was already dead. Bucky hadn’t gotten sick and he spent the nights at Steve's until his parents found out and kept him under lock and key until Steve got better.

One day, his mother looked very proud of herself as he placed a bottle on the wobbly table by Steve’s bed. Apparently, she was able to talk the pharmaceutic into lowering the price. Steve didn’t believe her.

 

**January 6th, 1930**

Steve was able to return to school that Monday with just the sniffles. Even with Bucky bringing homework back home while he was sick, he was still far behind. Bucky was in the year ahead of him but they had Geometry and lunch together.

After the event of his sickness and how scared it made people, Steve tried not to distance himself from his friend and mother anymore. They were the only people who could lighten the haze and make the need to cut lessen. He actually went a whole week and a half without reaching for his pocket knife.

 

**May 1930**

Steve felt like he was doing better. His nightmares became fewer and fewer so he slept more. He pushed himself to eat more and interact with people. He spent time with people, whether it be his coworkers or Bucky. He got out of the house and spent spring days drawing landscapes and scenery at the park. Steve even entertained Bucky’s ideas of double dates which always ended badly for him...but he was fine.

 

**June 1930**

He could do this!

Fuck the haze.

Fuck his shitty childhood.

Fuck his-

 

 Joseph Rogers appeared one day just after he turned thirteen.

 


	2. When the Dog bites (1930)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is forced in a circumstance he's not comfortable with and doesn't know how to tell anyone.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning: Sexual assault and rape themes**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all,  
> I hope everyone doing well. Midterms are done but this semester is important so school will keep me busy.  
> Still, I'm wondering if I should these longer chapters for this story. I like it. What y'all think?
> 
> The tone of this chapter, by the way, will vary from light and fluff to DARK depressing. I'm serious. This is the first time I've felt bad writing a character into these situations. The rape scene was harsh, dude.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to [Till It Happens to You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7M9TDWRUTQ)  
>  
> 
> Also, if you have experiance anything like this, here is the National Sexual Assualt Hotline 1-800-656-4673
> 
> Have a Happy Halloween. Stay Spooky and Safe, guys!

**July 17th, 1930**

Sarah had left for a double shift that night and Bucky had gotten a date with Katherine Boesel from Chemistry. It _had_ been a double date but the blonde hadn’t even spared Steve a second once-over. Bucky was having fun dancing with Katherine but the evening was a wash for Steve so he opted to leave.

“You sure ya don’t wanna stay?” Bucky tried to sway him with his kicked puppy impersonation.

“Nah,” Steve forced a smile and waved him off, “You three go have fun dancin’. I’ve got a piece I’ve been meanin’ to finish up.”

Bucky looked down at Steve; well, not like he had a choice anymore. He’d grown about a foot since last year. He didn’t look happy but he nodded and gave farewells, now having a gal in each arm.

Steve didn’t think of much as he walked back to his mother’s and his apartment. In truth, he was tired; wasn’t even sure he’d get to his sketch tonight. He often felt a blow to his already crippling self-esteem after a double date night. He had to face the music; no dame was interested in a subatomic shrimp.

The apartment was usually dark when Steve got home but the light was on in the kitchen. There was an unsettling feeling in the pit of Steve’s stomach, “Ma?” There was a grunt. Steve toed off his shoes, “Ma? Are ya…”

Two men sat in the kitchens. One was a tall burly brunette with greying hair and a rugged suit and tie, smoking a cigar. The other was a grizzly dirty blond hair with a beer gut and a sweat-stained work shirt. Steve had no idea who the first guy was but the second one was his asshole of a father.

“Hey ya, son,” the past year had not been kind to Joseph Rogers. His former slicked backed hair was overgrown and greasy. There were a few more lines in his face and his teeth were yellow. His dress shirt and tan jacket he’d worn prior to the ‘29 crash was replaced with stained janitor attire with sweat, beer, and food stains on it, “Ain’tcha happy to see your ol’ man.”

Steve made fists at his sides, “Get out.”

Joseph gave a wolfish grin and made a show of looking around, “Nice place y'all got,” he teased, “Can’t believe they leased it to the bitch. Where is she anyway?”

Steve’s eyes flared. No one spoke about his mother that way, especially not this son of a bitch, “None of your business. Now, _get out._ ”

Josepha feigned a scared look, “Ooh, tough guy. Since when were _you_ a man? You’re barely five foot, ninety pounds soakin’ wet, and got the strength of a lima bean with cancer. You’re no man but…” he stood up and walked towards Steve, “Nah, ya know what, you’ll do.”

Steve blinked, utterly confused. He didn’t back away when Joseph was nose to nose with him. He couldn’t; Steve was no coward. He wouldn’t let this man control him through fear as his mother had been. He did flinch however when his father roughly grabbed his chin, turning his head side to side, to expose his neck.

“Was gonna use Sarah. But for a boy, you’re a pretty lil’ thing.”

Steve reflexively jerked away from Joseph. No one called him “pretty”; he wasn’t some dame. As he tried to swing, meaty hands clamped down on Steve’s delicate wrists

“Get off me, you sicko!”

Joseph ignored Steve’s struggles, “What’chu think, Henry? Ain’t he a peach?”

The man called Henry spoke for the first time, frowning, “Ain’t he a lil’ feisty?”

Joseph’s smile resembled a Cheshire cat, “He just needs to be broken in. Give him a couple rounds.”

Henry took a puff of his cigar, “Some of the clients ain’t fags.”

“They don’t need to be,” Joseph shrugged off,  “It’s a hole to fuck. That’s what they're payin’ for.”

Steve’s heart dropped like a stone. No. He didn’t want this. He never wanted this. Steve started to struggle further, trying to aim for the man’s balls but managed to hit the shin hard enough to let go, “C’mon, you little shit,” his father hissed. When Steve tried to scramble away, Joseph yanked him by his shirt collar, shoving him to the ground, and got a grubby hand around his neck, “YOU WILL BEHAVE.”

“Let go, you God damn creep! I ain’t gonna do shit for ya! I owe you nothin’-” Joseph added pressure to his thin neck, cutting off some of his oxygen supply. Steve trying to wriggle free but the difference was a teddy bear against a grizzly.

“You don’t owe me??” Joseph sneered, “Who’d you think paid for all your medication for over a decade? Who paid the hospital bill for your heart surgery? Who wasted food you couldn’t even keep down? Who paid for your medication in January when your Ma came beggin’?  Me! We would’ve been just fine if we ain’t got to refill your fuckin’ inhaler every five minutes. This is all _your_ fault,” he squeezed tighter, “Sarah would’ve never left me if it ain’t for you, you worthless little fuck!”

The edges of Steve’s vision started to get cloudy and black. He was starting to think his father would kill him until Henry came over and grabbed Joseph’s shoulder, “Joe. Clients are waitin’,” Henry didn’t seem worried, only bored, “C’mon, stop makin’ a fuss.”

“I-I won’t do it!” Steve wheezed out.

Henry shrugged and leaned back into his seat, “Suit yourself. We’ll just wait for your mother.”

Steve went white as a sheet, “No...no, you can’t do that!”

“I can do whatever the hell I want. We were originally gonna use her but since you’re here...well, I couldn’t care less as long as I get paid.”

No. No, this isn’t happening. Breathe flooded back into Steve’s lungs, only for them to close up again in an asthma attack. He was still pinned down as he groped aimlessly for his inhaler.

“O, C'mon!” Joseph roared as the neighbors next door started to bang the wall, letting them know to be quiet.

Steve tried to struggle as they picked him off the floor. He hated to be manhandled, even by Bucky. He tried to punch and squirm but his efforts were in vain as they threw him in a car. He didn’t want this. Why had his body chosen now to act up when he really needed to fight?

The adrenaline rushed and pushed away the haze but it was starting to sink back in. A slimy creature attached itself to Steve and slithered up to his ear- if it had been between him and his mother, it’s best that it was him.

 

Steve wasn’t in the car long as he was dragged into an old ‘20s hotel that had fallen on hard times. He knew if he didn't go through with it, his mother would get hurt but he wouldn’t go down without a fight. Joseph grabbed his wrist and leaned down to hiss, “Fuckin’ behave or the bitch gets it.”

That stopped him from struggling as they made it to the lobby. Anger was replaced by fear once they got in the elevator. He’d never done anything like this before. He’d never kissed a girl. He’d never looked at those pinups at Bucky liked to look at that he kept under the mattress without blushing. Hell, he’d never even masturbated before as the nuns had scared him with images of fire and brimstone in Hell. Steve was a virgin in every sense of the word.

Would it hurt? Most likely it would. Why would God give people the ability to feel pleasure if it was a sin? But...then again, what if it felt good? Bucky had proudly boasted that he lost his virginity to Veronica Salt a month ago. When Steve have asked what it was like, full red in the face, Bucky had given him a wicked smile and said, “It’s the best fuckin’ thing in the world.” Steve feels ungodly shame at the hope that it felt good- or at the very least wasn’t painful.

Steve was involuntary shaking in the elevator as it went up four floors. Henry gripped his shoulder and gave him a grin holding no kindness, “Smile. You’re ‘bout to become a man.”

Steve broke at that moment, tears streaming down his face. He didn’t want this. He hated this. Steve had wanted to save himself for someone he loved. He had wanted it to be sent slow and sweet, maybe under the stars. Shut up. Fuck you, he’s a romantic so sue him. But now that could never happen.

He froze when he got to the room, petrified by fear. Joseph pushed him through the doorway and slammed the door. He landed on his ass like a clutse. Steve blinked his blue eyes a few times for them to adjust to the dim light. The room had a tacky red wallpaper with swirl designs all over it. They was a single lamp next to a twin bed with brash green sheets.

Also in the room were three naked men in varying heights and weights. Steve no longer remembers or cares to remember. They were faceless and to him then and now.

Steve felt his skin crawl as they touched him. Cold fingers kept trailing up his thighs and down his chest, back, and arms. One guy instantly started grinding into Steve’s hip from behind. A bald man started undoing his belt and fly as Steve continued to quake.

He jerked away and pressed his lips in a tight line as a tall skinny man tried to take his first kiss while unbuttoning his vest. The man grabbed at he blondes chin to try to seize control but Steve kept shaking his head. Steve couldn’t help but fight back. His anger had swelled up again. Fuck this guy for thinking he’d get Steve’s first kiss!

The man gave him a playful smirk, “Don’t ya wanna be sweetin’ up before we get started?”

“Fuck you,” Steve growled full of bitterness, laced with fear.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the man cooed as his vest dropped to the floor and this long fingers moved to Steve’s button down, “‘M good to all my girls.”

“I ain’t no girl!” Steve snapped out.

“Ah, but you’d make a pretty dame,” the man stroked Steve’s cheek, who acted like he needed to get the farthest away from it, “All we’d need is a dress and for you to bat of your lashes to make any man hard. What y'all think?”

The other men weren’t as talkative, only giving an approving grunt. Steve couldn’t help it when his face heated up, “Shut your mouth.”

When Steves shirt was peeled off from behind, he self consciously covered his chest. He hadn’t been shirtless in front of anyone since the heart surgery. Whenever he went swimming with Bucky, he’d always keep on at least a loose tank top. There was an ugly surgical scar running from his collarbone to just above his navel. His skin was too pale and his ribs protrude out sickly. He shouldn’t care what these assholes though, but it was reflex.

The tall man gave a toothy grin, “Ah, he’s shy,” he pinned Steve’s arms to his sides and sliding a hand down his chest, “Don’t cha worry. We'll make ya feel good.”

The bald man roughly jerked Steve’s slacks down and felt up the meat of his thigh, with noticeably less gentleness as the talkative man. The man from behind started to grope his small button causing Steve to yelp in surprise. Steve remembered reading in Beowulf, the hero would cover his face in honey so bees would swarm and crawl all over it- for fun. That had freaked Steve the hell out, giving him the jitters. This is how he felt now. He was shaking violently as the man front behind started to pull down his boxers, “N-No. I don’t want this.”

The tall man started to kiss and suck at Steve’s neck, causing him to tense. The area was so sensitive that is shot a little spark to pool in between Steve's legs. Steve couldn’t explain the foreign feeling. It was a little like the feeling he got when he saw one of Bucky’s pinup photos or when we saw Bucky naked once on accident, “Oh, but cha will. I can be very persuasive.”

Steve backed away from the man’s touch only to be grounded into by the one behind. The bald man was just jerking off. When his boxers hit the floor, Steve immediately relieved he was still flaccid so he wasn't giving these men the satisfaction of thinking they'ree the shit. The tall man reached down and curled a hand around his prick, stroking it. Something shot through Steve again, much stronger this time. It felt good but also wrong; it freaked him out. Steve  curled into a small ball, panicked, “No, please. I’ve never…”

But this only seemed to egg them on. The man from behind finally spoke, “Shit, a virgin. And this day couldn’t get better.”

Steve’s breathing became rapid, not out of arousal, but of fear. He couldn’t fight; his mother would pay the consequences. Maybe they could appeal to their better side. He looked up at the tall man, as he seemed the most likely to be swayed, “P-Please, don’t do this. You don’t have to. I can’t please you. I don’t have- I don’t- I’m not a-”

“Not a what?” the man from behind yanked Steve’s head back by the hair to look at him. He has a grizzled grey beard, “A cocksucker? Well, stop being a fuckin’ prude and get on your knees, cunt.”

The bluntness caused Steve to freeze for a second too long for the bearded man’s passions. He harshly forced Steve onto his knees. Steve’s breathing was getting worse but he refused to open his mouth so the bearded man pinched Steve’s nose and attempted to pry his jaw apart. When Steve was forced to gasp for air, the man shoved his cock into Steve’s mouth.

Steve couldn’t breath as the man’s ugly prick filled his mouth. It tasted bitter and metallic and like smoke. Steve gagged as it hit the back of his throat and tried to pull away. He was stopped by the man taking a fist full of his blonde hair and forcing him down painfully. Steve had no idea with he was suppose to even do as the man pistoned in his mouth. His jaw was getting tired and his teeth accidently graved the shaft, “Watch it,” the bearded man growled. Instead of doing the smart thing and obeying, Steve bit down.

“Fuck!” the bearded man jumped back looked appalled, “You little cockslut!” He backhand Steve in the face with so much force, he toppled over.

The tall man got between them, “Relax, man.”

“No! I didn’t pay to be bitten. I don’t care if it's his first time. This little fucker needs to be taught manners.”

Steve, backed away realizing his mistake too late. He had pushed his defiance too far, “I-I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’ll- I’ll be good.”

“Oh, I know ya will,” The bearded man grabbed Steve and threw him on the bed. Steve tried to scramble away but the bearded man caught his ankles and dragged his small body to the edge of the bed, flipped him onto his stomach, and pushed his legs apart.. He attempted to get up by the bald man grabbed his hands and pinned them on his back, “Gonna shut up and take what you’re given.”

_No this can’t be happening. Not like this._

Tears threatened to prickle his eyes as he looked up at the tall man, “Please, help me.”

The man looked away, clearly not happy with the predicament, “Sorry, kid. Ya brought this on yourself.”

Steve lost every bit of pride in that moment and was only filled with pure terror, “HELP! SOMEBODY HELP M- **”**

The bearded man shoved his head into the mattress, muffling his screams. The man snarls, “One more outburst like that and you’re gonna be real sorry,” He pressed his hips forward and Steve feels the stranger’s erection against him. “Take it like a bitch and I’ll  make ya nice and wet before we start ‘cause ‘m such a nice guy.”

Suddenly Steve let’s out a yelp when the man’s hand made contact with his ass with a smack. The man kept it out for ten plows waiting for another respond that Steve refused to give. Steve could taste blood from his lip he’d been biting down on to stop his cries. The man wasn’t holding back and it was painful. Steve couldn’t understand how this could be arousing to some people.

He let out a whimper at the last one. The man stroked a large hand down Steve’s backside and over his abused bottom, “Good boy,” He spits a glob into his hand and rubs it into Steve’s pink hole. The man circled it with a rough finger before taking the plunge.

Steve inhales harshing from the burn of each thrust. He let out a sob and softly begged, “Please. Please, stop. Please. Please.” He couldn’t help whimpering a repetitive plead. The tall man approached him and he closed his eyes not wanting to see anymore of these people.

“Shh. None of that, sweetheart,” the man stroked Steve’s hair as he let out a whimper, “Who knows? Ya might even enjoy it.”

“If ya shut it and calm the fuck down,” the bearded man growled. Steve turned his head away from the tall man only to see the bald one jerking off with his unused hand. The bearded man did something new and crooked a finger inside Steve.

To Steve’s horror, his body jolted and he cried out a moan as pleasure shot through him.

_No. No.  He was not enjoying this._

The bearded man barked out a laugh, “Yeah, see? You love it, you lil’ slut.”

“No,” Steve whimpered, “No, no, no, no.”

The men just laugh but otherwise just ignore him. The man added another finger which caused Steve to let out another sob. The pain of being stretched for the first time with only split was too much. Steve was terrified. Absolutely terrified. These men were going to rape him and it would hurt and there was nothing he could do about it. He tried getting up one last time but was slammed down  by the bald guy who growled, “Stay the fuck down!”

There was the sound of more splitting from behind and Steve trembled with fear,  “Please!” he sobbed, “I don’t want it. I don’t want it.”

The man let out a tisk and lined up his cock, “Don’t know what gave you the impression I ever gave a damn.” He pushed in.

 

Steve doesn’t know when he stopped fighting; probably by person number three. His body was in so much pain. The first two times had been unbelievably rough with hardly any slick used. Steve thought he would be torn in half. He started to let his mind wander as his poor body was abused.

He thought of the night he would’ve had if he had stayed with Bucky. He would’ve thrown a fit as yet again his date didn’t spare him a second once over. The girl would’ve no doubt try to cling to his best friend and Bucky wouldn’t have been the least modest about the attention. At the same time, if either dame had said another remotely offencive about Steve being short and sickly, Bucky would’ve snapped at them. He’d treat the girls to dancing until the bar owner kicked them out after ten for happy hour.

They'd walk their dates home and Bucky would say something witty trying to get into the girl’s pants and she’d flush a pretty pink and swat his arm to hide her flusterness. Steve would turn around embarrassed as the two of them makeout and get annoyed as his own date stared at the two dreamily. Steve would try to make conversation with her as he walked her home but her response would be clipped and disinterested. Steve wouldn’t even bother trying to get a kiss out of her as they depart.

If Bucky didn’t get invited in for a quicky, then he’d walk Steve home. He’d probably point out that Steve was down and tell him that the dame doesn’t know what she’s missing like he always says. He’ll try to boost Steve’s moral and sometimes it works. If it doesn’t, he’d invite Steve to spend the night. They do this so often, Steve doesn’t bother to tell his mother anymore since she assumed he’s at the Barnes. Since the Barnes are away to visit family in Jersey for the day, they’d have the place to themselves and Bucky would swipe some liquor bottles his dad has stored away. They’d share a bottle and get tipsy while watching the stars from the roof.

Steve couldn’t help to smile at the false memory

After the three had there way, they left Steve lying in a puddle of semen as he stared aimlessly at the wallpaper. He felt so empty and dirty in that moment. He just laid there counting the swirls on the wallpaper not caring about anything. He wanted to die. Nothing could be worse than this.

But it gets worse.

When Steve finally manages to get up, he goes to the bathroom and washes up. He scrubs and scrubs until his skin turns red. After five minutes, Steve heard a pounding from the locked door, “Boy, ya getter be in there! You’ve got two minutes till I break down the door.”

Steve hurried to pull up his slacks and button his shirt before stepping out. He saw his father sitting on the bed counting bills. Joseph glared at his ruffled clothes. Henry stood to the side and exchanged money and smokes with Joseph, “Folks told us you weren’t behavin’.”

Steve glared back, “What’ga expect?”

“I expect ya to behave. Be a good lil' fuck hole,” Joseph snapped, “You'll do better next time.”

“What the fuck do you mean _next time?_ ” Steve’s throat tightened.

Henry lit his cigarette and took a puff, “You’ll be here every Saturday from ten to two for clients.”

“The hell I am!” Steve shouted, pissed. He folded his arms over his chest as though he was still exposed.

Henry let out a chuckle, “You’ll do what we say, boy. Unless ya want your mommy to get involved.”

Steve launched himself at the stranger but Joseph held him back, “You stay the hell away for my mother!”

Joseph punched him in the gut, “Stay down, boy!”

“I won't let ya hurt my Ma!” Steve cried as he went down, “Get off me! I won’t let you! I won’t let you!”

“Then ya will fuckin’ shut up and do as we say!” Joseph smacked Steve across the face. Blood trickled from his split lip, “You will show up here every Saturday at ten or we’ll drag the bitch here instead. Do ya hear me, punk?!” Steve spit blood at Joseph, who’s eyes blazed with blood lust as he grabbed Steve by the throat, “Answer me or I’ll fuck ya too!”

Steve knows it's just a threat. His father didn't swing both ways...right? He'd said so himself. He trembling under his father’s grip, “Y-Yes.”

Joseph leaned in, whisky on his breathe, “Yes what?”

Steve hated himself, “Yes, sir.”

Joseph let go and got off of Steve’s small body. He let a two dollar bill fall on Steve’s heaving chest, “For your troubles. I hope I don’t have to tell you if ya talk, I’ll kill you, Sarah, and the fuckin’ Barnes kid ya love so much,” the two men made to exit, “Say hi to your Ma for me.”

 

Steve had never felt so numb as he made the walk of shame home. It ended up taking him an hour as he got lost or in more truth, he forgot where he was going. When he got home, he used the fire escape to avoid his mother. He didn’t want to see anyone right now. Not his mother. Not Bucky. Not anyone.

 

* * *

 

**July 18th, 1930**

Steve slept like the dead. He knew when he got up it was well past noon as the room was flooded with sunlight streaming through the room. Steve eventually slumped out of bed and felt an ache in his ass that caused him to walk a little funny. It was Saturday and he had the day off. He’d usually hang up with Bucky on days like these, but all he wanted to do was curl back into bed. First, he needed something in his stomach as he hadn’t eaten since the day before.

Steve got to the kitchen and peered into the small ice box. There was leftover soup, a jar of milk, and an orange. He knew the soup and milk should be left for dinner and he wanted to save the sweet orange for his mother. Steve ended up making oatmeal for himself.

Later that day, Sarah arrived home and saw Steve lying on the couch staring blankly at the ceiling. She must’ve been talking for some time before Steve noticed because she looked over him concerned, “Steve, ya alright?”

Steve blinked, “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

Sarah brushed a hand over Steve’s busted lip and he reflexively jerked away, tumbling off the couch. Sarah gasped in surprise but Steve waved her over with, “’M fine. 'M fine, Ma. I’m just really tired. I’m just- I’m gonna go to bed.”

“But it’s four o’clock…”

Steve winced, “I just- I had a long night.”

 

Steve slept for most of the day. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to go through that again. When his dreams weren’t pitch black, they were of him being grabbed at. One of them was so real, that he started crying and begging for the dozens of arms of stop grabbing and groping and pitching and slapping and stroking and….and…

“Please, please stop.”

_Steve?_

“ I don’t want it. I don’t want it.”

_Steve._

“I’ll be good...just please…”

_Steve!”_

“...stop.”

“STEVE!”

Steve bolted up out of bed, freed from those arms,  and punch his attacker in the face, “Ow! What the hell, man?” Steve blinked several times till his eyes adjusted to the dark room. It was night time already. He could see Bucky rubbing his cheek on the other side of the bed, “Man, you got a mean swing,” Bucky looked at Steve, suddenly startled, “Steve? You okay?” He tried to approach him but Steve panicked.

The dark distorted his vision and Steve saw a hand reaching out towards him.

_No. No. no no no no. Not again!_

“Get away!” Steve backed up off the bed and toppled onto the floor with a thud. Steve didn’t care who it was. He didn’t want to be touched by anyone. As Bucky approached, Steve backed away into a corner where he started to hyperventilate. This wasn’t good. He’s having a panic attack which usually leads to a-

“Stevie. I need you to breathe,” Bucky isn't moving anymore. He just sat on the floor, “Breath. One, two, three. One, two, three.” Steve tried to breathe to time with Bucky. He was doing better until he saw Bucky trying to reach out to comfort him like he always did when Steve had an attack...but today was not the day. He started to panic again, “Easy, easy Stevie. One, two, three. One, two, three. There ya go. One, two, three.”

It took another handful of minutes before Steve’s breathing was made under control. It was another few before either one of them said anything but Bucky finally broke the silence, “Stevie? What was that about?”

Steve looked down at his feet. His socks were mitch matched; that was not normal for him, “Nothin’.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky said flatly.

“It’s nothin’.” Steve repeated. “Just a nightmare.”

 

****

Bucky didn’t say anything for a long time. He didn’t know whether he should believe Steve’s freak out excuse. Steve’s had nightmares before but nothing like this. Bucky had never seen Steve so shaken up. Every time he tried to reach out to comfort the little guy, Steve would curl into himself as if he expected Bucky to hit him.

Bucky just continues to sit there until he sees Steve get the courage to scurry, literally scurry like a mouse, back to his bed and hide under the old quilt. Bucky took it as his queue to leave. With one last look at the heap of blankets, Bucky began to climb back out the window into the humid night air, “Night, Stevie.”

Right before he left, he could’ve sworn he heard a week, “‘M sorry.”

 

* * *

 

**August 1930**

Steve didn’t feel any better as the month proceeded. Even when it wasn’t a Saturday, he could still feel warm cum on his skin, all slimy and with the stench of fish oil. He found himself taking more showers than usually though he remained cautious of the water bill. He’d scrub at his skin with the bar of soap until it turned red from friction; but no matter what he did, the smell of semen wouldn’t leave his nose. He’d get lost in thought in there. A few times, his mother had knocked on the door to see if he was okay.

Most days, he felt the haze consume him. It was like a noose, choking the life out of him that remained. Everything was foggy and black. There was no escaping it; the cloud just kept following him regardless if he ran.

It didn’t take long to find his old pocket knife he’d hidden away and start slashing into his wrists again. The pain became both a relief and distraction. He didn’t have to think of that hotel or the brash green sheets as he’s fucked into the mattress like some whore, but he guesses that’s what he really is now

God must surely hate him. Steve becomes paranoid that God’s wrath would strike him dead every time he went to Sunday mass or said the Lord’s Prayer at meals for his hypocrisy.

 

* * *

 

**September  2nd, 1930**

Steve had mostly avoided Bucky for the rest of the summer and he was no better at school. He didn’t meet his friend on the street corner on the first day of school, breaking a tradition that gone back seven years.

****

Bucky tried to find Steve in the cafeteria during lunch but the little guy was nowhere to be seen. He checked their normal spot, by the trash cans and gym- in case he got into a fight- and the bathrooms but he was nowhere to be seen. Lastly, he checked the art classroom when Steve always went when he was down and saw his friend eating half a baloney sandwich by himself.

Bucky approached cautiously. He always did nowadays as Steve was going through these kinds of mood swings. One minute he’d be fine and the next, he’d be a skittish as a rat, “Hey, buddy” Steve didn’t look up from his sandwich but Bucky could see the glazed expression in his eyes, “What ‘cha doin’ in here?”

“Nothin’,” Steve answered dully.

Bucky looked at Steve’s weathered sketchbook. The spine was breaking and loose eggshell pages were shoved into it at random, “What ‘cha working on?”

“Nothin’.” Steve repeated.

Bucky took the sketchbook, expecting his friend to react at usually; yanking it away, blushing that pretty pink, and calling him a jerk. Instead, he just sat there, slouched over and chewing slowly. Bucky hesitated to look in it. Steve was very private about his work outside of the sketches of him and sometimes not even that. Why was Steve being so nonchalant about it now?

Bucky shrugged off the thought and opened the sketchbook, being careful to not let the loose pieces fall out. Steve mostly worked with pencil and charcoal. Some of the sketches were technical, involving hands and facial expressions. Some of them resembled Bucky. His style was still in development but it leaned towards the elegant side. Bucky would never say it out loud but Steve’s handwriting and drawing were very feminine, “Jeez, Stevie, these are really good.”

On the latest pages, however, the style had a slight change. The confident, thin, smooth lines were dark and streaky. There was a very sketchy quality to the work. There was a sense of anxiety in the drawings. Bucky turned the page and frowned, “Steve, what’s this?”

He was pointing to a bunch of incoherent words scribbled across the page like a toddler. He read “Angry” and “Hurt” and “Stop”. There were more but before he could comprehend them, Steve snatched the book away and hugged it to his chest, “It’s nothin’.”

****

“The hell it isn’t,” Bucky frowned, “Stevie, what’s goin’ on?”

Steve scowled. Why did Bucky have to stick his nose in other people's business like this? Steve could handle it just fine. He managed before he met Bucky and he will long after they parted ways. He didn’t need help, “‘M fine, okay. I don’t need no one’s help. Why don’t you go bother Johnny Miller instead? You’re friend’s with him and his lot, right?”

It was a low blow but Steve didn’t care. He did start to feel guilty when he saw the hurt in Bucky’s eyes.  Bucky was friends with everyone. He couldn’t help it that he was a social butterfly but he always made time for Steve. Even still, he wasn’t that chummy chummy with Johnny Miller as he picked on Steve still the fifth grade.

Bucky’s jaw was set, “Ya wanna wallow in self-pity, fine. See if I care.”

Steve almost stopped him from strutting out of the classroom. He almost spilled everything and came clean. He almost told him about what really happens on Saturdays.

But he didn’t because he’s a coward.

 

* * *

 

**September 20th, 1930**

Another Saturday came along. Steve had continued to act up on the clients to Joseph’s dismay. He tried to make it perfectly clear that he was no cockslut; that he didn’t want it. Sometimes the thought of forcing rape was too much for the clients and they fled. Most of the time though, they went through it.

Today, an old man tried to force him to suck his cock. Steve had never really blown anyone before besides the short time when he first...when it happened first and he was so scared. When the man pushed it into Steve’s mouth, his airway was immediately cut off. He tried to push away but the man grabbed him by the hair and forced him forward till his nose was buried in the man’s pubic hair.

Steve let out a muffled cried against the cock as it was shoved deeper and to the back of his throat. He reflexively gags and tried to breathe through his nose but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Oh God, he couldn’t breathe.

Steve tried beating his small fists against the man’s legs, trying to signal his distress. It didn’t phase the man. He started to snap his hips towards Steve’s mouth until it was more of him face fucking Steve than a suckjob. Tear’s prickled Steve’s eyes and his head swam from lack of oxygen and his jaw ached.

He released the tension of his jaw for a moment, letting his teeth graze the man’s prick and that did give a response. The man tugged on his blonde hair again growling, “No teeth.”

So that’s got his attention? After all Steve’s banging and scratching at his legs? Well, Steve would make sure he’d hear him loud and clear. Just like when the bearded man had tried, Steve bit down bite on the base of the cock till he tasted blood along with the musk.

The man let out a blood-curdling scream and shoved Steve away. Air flooded have into his lungs so fast that he choked as he rolled on his side, “C-Can’t br-reathe, asshole!”

 

Steve’s attempt was to get his father to dump the whole idea completely because of his uncontrollable behavior but he was always countered by punishments.

Smack!

The belt buckle slashed its way across Steve’s back. He bit back a yell, cutting into his bottom lip again. The sting blazed red as another landed on is lower back. This line, he felt something warm seep out of the mark. Steve reached back to touch it and came back with blood on his fingers.

“Stay still!” Joseph sent another whipping down from the belt. Smack!

This time Steve let out a small yelp. He may cut but he was not a masochist. After another few lashed, his elbows lost their strength and he fell into a very lewd position. His skin crawled as Henry came up and soothed the burned marks other his shoulder, back, and ass. Steve couldn’t help but let out a whimper at the cool hand slid down his back, “It doesn’t have to be this way. If you just behave and go along with the clients, this wouldn’t have to happen after each session.”

Steve didn’t say anything, knowing he’d start crying again.

 

* * *

  **September 22nd, 1930**

Steve continued to eat lunch alone in the art room. Sometimes, Bucky would come by but Steve wouldn’t encourage conversation much. Steve could see Bucky was trying and could tell his friend really cared. Steve knew Bucky’s attempts were hopeless though as Steve was a lost cause. Still, even if he wasn’t showing it, he did appreciate Bucky trying. He didn’t deserve a friend like that.

Steve still walked to school alone which gave Johnny Miller  a chance to sneak up behind him and snatched his lunch bag, “Thanks, lil’ Stevie. Hope you don’t mind. I didn’t feel like makin’ mine.”

Steve sighed, not wanting to deal with this today. “Give it back, Miller.”

Johnny smirks holding the paper bag high above his head. He was a least a foot taller than Steve, meaning he knows Steve couldn’t reach him lunch even if he jumps which was precisely what Johnny wanted to happen, “Whatcha gonna do about it, shrimp?”

Steve stared at him blankly. He was not in the mood for Johnny's game so he walked right past him. He could wait until he made it home for dinner or maybe Bucky would share an apple or something, even though he didn’t deserve it

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Johnny yelled back, “Ya can’t fight back without your boyfriend backin’ you up? God, not only do ya look like a dame, ya sure as hell act like one too.”

Steve stopped.

 

****

Steve was late to school. He was never late. Bucky may not walk with him anymore as Steve was drifting aware. Fine. Whatever, but Bucky always made sure Steve got to school okay. Who knew what the little punk could get into in five blocks?

Bucky was about to enter the classroom when he got a hunch. He already checked the cafeteria, art classroom, and Steve’s homeroom. He didn’t know why but he felt like he should check behind the gym. A bunch of shady shit happened them; quick hookups, fights,  smoking a joint, you name it. Steve being Steve found himself back there a couple of times in the past from picking fights.

As Bucky approached, he heard wheezing and scuffling. He knew someone was back there in a brawl.

_Please don’t be Steve. Please don’t be Steve. Please don’t-_

Of course, it was Steve. The fucking punk.

Steve was getting up off the ground and pulling his tiny fists to cover his face. He taking a swing and hits Johnny Miller in the chin. If only seemed it annoy Johnny who swung and landed on Steve’s left cheekbone. Bucky stepped in at that moment stopping Johnny's fist from connecting again, “Pick on someone your own size, asshole.”

Johnny's eyes flared not with anger but with amusement, “Aw, see ya come to save your lil’ damsel ‘n distress, Barnes.”

Bucky shoved him away, harshly, “Beat it, Miller.”

Johnny laughed, “So ya don’t deny you’re sweet on Rogers? Everyone knows he’s a fairy. Didn’t think the gay was contagious but look at ya, you fuckin-”

Bucky slugged him in the mouth, “You shut your mouth if ya know what’s good do you!” Bucky knew his feelings for Steve were uncomfortably beyond the normal bounds of friendship and confused the hell out of him but this wasn’t the time for soul-searching.

“Fairies!" Johnny just kept laughed, "Queers! Fuckin’ fags!”

Bucky kept up his punches, relentless until a teacher caught them out of class and ordered Bucky and Steve to the principal's office while Johnny was sent to the infirmary since he was in the worse shape- and Steve refused to go. Bucky and Steve were given the standard lecture about how their behavior was most unorthodox and such. They were given detention together next week.

As they were leaving to head to their individual classes  Bucky saw Steve scowling at the floor, arms folded, and feet shuffling, “What’s with the stick up your ass?”

Steve glared at Bucky, “Nothin’,” as he sped up.

“Oh hell, that ain’t flying right now,” Bucky grabbed his shoulder and spun the little guy around, “What the fuck did ya think you were doin’ takin’ on Miller like that?”

“He called me a dame, Buck,” Steve hissed, “and I was so sick ‘n tired of his shit.”

“Ya can’t keep fightin’ every time someone makes fun of you. Ya need to learn to solve problems without your fists.”

Steve brushed Bucky’s hand off of his shoulder, “‘Don’t tell me what to do. I don’t need your help.”

“Yeah, right,” Bucky rolled his eyes, “Ya clearly had it before I arrived.”

Steve’s cheeks went pink, “Screw you, I was fine! ‘M getting much better. I don’t need ya lookin’ after me like a mother hen. That’s why people talk.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to be angry, “Fuck you, I _do_ have to look after ya. You don’t got no self-preservation, punk. ‘M scared one day you’ll end up in the hospital.”

Steve scoffed, “You’re bein’ ridiculous.”

“ _‘M_ being ridiculous?”

“Yes,” Steve snapped, “You are! And I’m tired of babying me too. “M not a child! Stop treating in me like one.”

“Then stopped actin’ like one!”

Steve’s eye’s flare open, “Fuck you! I don’t need this. I don’t need your pity and I don’t need _you._

Bucky was taken aback by Steve’s swear. He didn’t realize his friend was that angry. His anger pierced into Bucky like a knife. Did Steve really feel that way about him or was this teenage rage hormones controlling his emotions? Either way, until Steve realized he was in the wrong, he could have his way.

A teacher fussed at them for standing in the hall, “What you two doing? Get to class.”

“Sorry, professor,” Bucky sat flatly, still looking at Steve’s angry face, “Just on our way.”

He walked passed Steve not bothering to move and prevent him from shouldering the little guy. He was too hurt and angry not to as he stomped off towards his first-period class.

 

* * *

 

**October 1930**

Steve and Bucky didn’t speak to each other for over a week. That was a record for them. The last time had been when they were eight and nine when Bucky told Sarah about the kitten that Steve was hiding under his bed in a shoe box. Steve has been so upset but the cat was sick and Bucky couldn’t stand to watch it suffer anymore. That had been four days. Now they were thirteen and fourteen and it passed ten days.

Detention was held in uncomfortable silence. The teacher even seemed concerned at usually the two troublemakers whispered or doodled in their notebooks together so he’d have to separate them. This time, they sat on opposite sides of the rooms, not even acknowledging the other.

Steve felt bad for snapping at his friend but he refused to take it back. He didn’t need Bucky saving him all the time like a princess locked in a tower. Steve needed to prove himself that he could handle shit on his own because Bucky wasn’t always going to be there for him. That night when he was first raped, part of him thought Bucky would break down the door and punch the shit out of the men in the room as he’d always done.

But he hadn’t and that was a jarring reality check for Steve.

Bucky wouldn’t always be there to save the day so Steve had to learn to survive on his own.

 

* * *

 

**October 4th, 1930**

Another Saturday approaches and Steve has to force himself to crawl out his window, down the fire escape, and towards the morbid 20s hotel. Dread settles in when he sees Henry in the empty lobby lighting up a Lucky Stripe. The pimp’s lip curls into a smile as he beckons Steve over.

Steve thought back to Charles Dickens Christmas Carol that he read in sixth grade English. He imagined the links and chains worn by the deceased Jacob Marley digging into his skin, dragging him backward with the weight of his sins with each step he took towards Henry. God must hate him. God doesn’t want anything to do with him. He knows there is a chain weighting for him when he dies.

“There ya are,” Henry slid a large hand down Steve’s side to rest on his waist making him jump at the gentle touch. Henry had never physically hurt him before, usually leaving that to Joseph, but Steve was still confused by the soft touches the man gave him sometimes. Henry took another drag before stamping it out, “Ya gonna be a good boy today,” Steve scowled at him, “or are we gonna have to punish you again?”

Steve stiffened. He still had bruises and cuts branded on his back for the previous week. They burned as a reminder. He could deal with a little pain. He’d gotten in so many fights, he’s numb to the pain- and it’s not like Joseph didn’t hit him before. So why was he quivering at the spot? Was it because it was the full force of an adult’s fury? Was it because he was always stripped away from his dignity?

“Shh, it’s okay,” Henry smiled almost kindly to the small boy, cupping Steve’s cheek and thumbing his quivering lip, “It doesn’t have to hurt. I don’t enjoy seeing ya hurt, sweet boy. All I want is for you to treat the clients good. Can we try that, huh? If they’re happy, then ‘m happy and won’t let your Pops hit cha. Okay?”

Steve broke in that moment. He had an idea why. He’s had big bad bullies like Joseph his entire life. He doesn’t even blink twice at them now. But no one has tried to break him with kindness. All he has is Bucky and his mother in life. Everyone else looks at him as a bug they might step on. Kindness was rare in his life so he soaked it up like a sponge.

This kindness was unhealthy and manipulative but it was the only light in this dark situation so naturally little Steve clung to it like a child with his teddy bear.

Steve gave the tiniest nod of his head which cause Henry’s lips to stretch wider, “Good boy.”

 

He led Steve to room 416B which his large hand on the small on Steve’s back the whole time. Steve saw his father waiting there with his arms crossed, “Took ya long enough.”

Henry shrugged, “Just sorting out a few things. Right, kid?”

Steve nodded shyly but kept staring at the door. Henry saw how stiff Steve was and rubbed circles on his lower back, “Hey, it’s okay, sweet boy. It’ll be over before ya know it. Just think of a pretty dame you know if it helps.”

Steve’s ears were buzzing like they always do before he does his. Henry patted his shoulder and pushed him forward slightly, “Go get ‘em, champ.”

Steve’s mouth felt bitter with bile as he entered the room. The room always looked the same with the same swirly red wallpaper and ugly green sheets. There was a rather attractive man- though Steve would never say it out loud- sitting on the brash sheets, smiling brightly at him, “Ah, you’re just as pretty said ya were.”

Steve’s cheeks were pink. He’d given up on getting angry at the title just like Bucky said, he couldn’t solve everything with his fists. Steve just stood them looking at his worn-out shoes that needed replacing.

“It’s okay, doll,” the man beckons, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

This is the point he usually starts crying his performance, saying he doesn’t want it and all that. However, he doesn’t seem to have the energy to fight tonight and this man actually seems nice. Steve gingerly steps towards the man’s stretched out hand. The man pulled Steve forward running a hand up and down his back. The man tries to lean in for a kiss but Steve turns his head, “N-no. ‘m-m savin’ it for...for….”

The man pulls back and smiles sadly at Steve,  “For that special someone?” Steve nodded, “Gosh, I didn’t realize how young ya were. Ya could be ten.”

If Steve was thinking, he could’ve played on the sympathy card to not go through this. However, he was most offended and scowled at the man, jutting out his chin, “‘M thirteen, mister. Don’t ya call me kid.”

The man broke into a laugh, “Alright, I wouldn’t call ya kid if ya don’t call me mister. Call me James. How ‘bout that, doll?”

 _James_. Now all Steve could think about was Bucky which made him sad as they weren’t speaking at the moment. He nodded anyway.

“What should I call you?”

Steve blinked. None of the others ever asked for his name. They just fucked him, “Steve.”

“Steve, huh?” James smiled, cupped Steve’s cheek, “Well, Steve, Henry told me you were new. Is that right?”

Steve couldn’t help it, “You talk a lot.”

James chuckles, “ Suppose I do. He also said you were a lil’ troublemaker,” Steve’s cheeks brightened again but he didn’t look away from those brown eyes. They crinkled in the corners, “It’s alright. I like a lil’ trouble.”

James leaned in a kissed Steve’s neck which causes him to gasp as the man make a trail up his ear and whispered, “Strip for me, baby doll. Give me a show.”

Steve stepped back and nervously unbuttons his shirt. His hands shook and made him miss the buttons sometimes. Once he got them undone, he started to pull the shirt off.

“Slowly.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at James’s command. It’s not like he’s sporting a delicious set of pecs and six-pack. He didn’t even have any meat for a healthy belly. As he slowly pulled to shirt away he exposed visible ribs and a surgical scar; not the most sexiest things in the world.

However, James was looked at him with pupil blown eyes, “Now the pants.”

Steve unbuttoned his pants to unzipped the fly and pulled them down with a little shimmy on his hips that made James palm his crotch. He stepped out and stripped off his socks so he was only staring at a pair of boxers. It wasn’t long till he wasn’t in those either.

James smiles greedily at him, “By God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

Steve’s face was completely red from being exposed like this and the compliment. For some reason, he imagined James has his James, Bucky, looking at him with such adoration...then immediately felt guilty for it. Bucky was straight and his _best friend._ He wasn't interested in his skranny ass. Plus- since he seems to keep forgetting- they're in a middle of a fight.

“Touch yourself.”

Steve is startled out of his thoughts of Bucky, “W-What?”

James motioned at Steve’s prick, “Jerk off for me. I wanna see that pretty face looks when you cum.”

Steve’s face lit up like a fire hydrant, “I don’t know- I-I can’t,” Steve kept stuttering, “N-No, I can’t. It’s a sin.”

“Wait a moment,” James blinked at Steve confused, “You’ve never whacked off before?” Steve shook his head, “And no other clients ever got ya off before?” Steve repeated the motion and James pinched to the bridge of his nose swearing, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. No one's got any fuckin' manners. C’mere.”

Steve came closer and James grabbed his hips gently and pushed him down on the bed, Steve’s head hitting the pillow, “‘M sorry all those other fuckers have been so inconsiderate so I’m gonna get ya off first before I have my fun.”

Steve’s breathing quickened with fear, “Wait, no. You-You don’t gotta. It’s a sin. I can’t- I can’t enjoy this.”

“Why not?” James kissed down his scarred sternum, “We’re meant to do this. It’s perfectly normal,”

“B-but it’s the desire of the flesh,” Steve’s voice squeaked as James kissed his inner thigh and then Steve panicked when Jame’s hand wrapped about his shaft, “I’m gonna go to hell!” he choked out a sob.

James stopped for a moment, resting his chin on Steve’s stomach and holding his shaking hand, “Well, then Hell’s already got a seat for me then. Plus, I’ma queer. Let me do it for you so you won’t be joining me, okay?”

Steve didn’t say anything so James took that as a yes and began pumping. Steve lets out a gasp and nearly jumps out of his skin. It feels... _good?_ Sex never felt good. It always hurt with the occasional zing of please but this was full on pleasure. Why was he avoiding this? It’s-

_No! No! NO! It’s a sin. I can’t do this. God will hate me even more!_

Steve clenched his fists and eyes, trying to fight off the pleasure. He sobs when he saw his dick harden on its own accords. He hated when that happened. It always hurts.

_Just go away. Go away! I don’t want this._

“Relax,” James rubbed circles on his inner thigh, “You’re doin’ nothin’ wrong, Steve. Just let go. It’ll feel good”

_No. No. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. Go away. No. Go away!_

“Shhh,” James kissed to tip of Steve’s little cock which caused him to cry out. He was facing a losing battle. God hates him for sure. How could he face Him at mass on Sundays anymore?

“Just let go,” James cooed, “Think of someone ya like. Got a sweetheart at school ya liked?”

Steve’s first thoughts went to Bucky with his lopsided smile and piercing grey eyes. He imagined for a moment it was Bucky who was jerking him off and not James, “ _C’mon, Stevie. You can do this. You’re being so good for me, so good.”_

Then he shook his head realizing how ridiculous he’s being. Bucky probably hates him. Steve shouldn’t be thinking this way but it makes his prick so hard and twitch. He can’t hold off much longer as James pumps faster, “No...N-no...I don’t...I-I-”

He’s stopped by James taking the plunge and taking him in his mouth. Oh god, the wetness, the heat, the tightness; it felt so good. No...no, Steve must resist. He can’t...he can’t...Oh God, please forgive him.

Steve let out a cry as the tightness in his balls snapped and pleasure rushed out of him in a white stream. James licked up at much cum as he could while Steve continued to cry.

Steve’s a horrible person.

He going to the special Hell. Fire and brimstone.

 

* * *

 

**October 8th, 1930**

“So, How’s school?”

“Fine.”

“Grade’s goin’ okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Like your classes?”

“There fine.”

“Makin’ any new friends?” Sarah smiled, cleaning off her plate, “Not that I don’t like James but I’d feel better if you had someone else to hang out with.”

Steve shrugged, “I guess.”

Sarah put the plate away and grabbed Steve’s, “Where is James these days? I haven’t seen him here as of late.”

“Don’t know,” Steve’s answer was clipped

Sarah frowned, “What’s wrong? Did you two have a fallin’ out?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Steve turned away, “Goin’ to bed. Don’t feel good.”

Sarah grabbed Steve’s hand, “Wait, what happened? Steve, you’ve been acting awfully odd lately. What’s going on?”

Steve jerked away from the touch he used to love, “Nothin’.”

“Steven, don’t say what isn’t true,” Sarah looked so sad, holding her son’s small hand, “Tell me. ‘M your mama. I care about ‘chu.”

Steve pulled out of her grip, “Forget it, Ma. You wouldn’t….you wouldn’t get it,” as he slumped into his room. When he got there, he got his pocket knife out and headed to the bathroom when he drew thick red lines into his forearm.

****

Bucky was tired of this silly feud. He missed his best friend. Steve was obviously hurt and was snippy because of it. Steve may be a little shit but, by God, the tiny twerp needed him now.

That night he tried climbing in through the fire escape but the window was locked. He tapped on it but there was no answer. Maybe Steve was in the main room. Bucky climbed down and used the front door. He gave it a knock and it opened to not Steve, but Sarah Rogers, “Hi, Ms. Rogers. I just came by to…”

Bucky saw her blue eyes were all red and puffy and her cheeks were tear-streaked, “What’s happened?”

“Oh,” she sniffled and smiled, “It’s nothin’. It’s nothin’, James. Really,” Sarah lead Bucky inside, “You must be here to see. I’ll...I’ll call for him.”

“Wait, ma’am,” Bucky stopped her, “Really, what’s wrong? Did somethin’ happen?” Fear streaked through Bucky, “Did somethin' happen to Steve??”

“I..I...I don’t know!” Sarah burst into tears leaning against the sink, “He’s been so distant lately. Somethin’s going on, I just know it but he won’t tell me nothin’. ‘M his mother. I should be able to help him but he won’t let me! I just wish I knew what was goin’ on in that little head of his.”

Bucky winced. He didn’t like seeing Sarah cry and it hurt to hear she was getting the cold shoulder too. Something had to be done able Steve’s behavior. This was unacceptable, “Let me talk to him, Ms. Rogers. I’ll find out what’s goin’ on.”

She covers her eyes with her hand, lip trembling as tears continued to pour. Sarah shook her head in acknowledgment as he walked past. Bucky made his way to the door and found it locked. He delivered three powerful knocks, “Steve, I know you’re in there.”

There’s no replied, “Steve, we gotta talk so ya open the door before I kick it down.”

There was shuffling and then the door creaks open an inch to show the small blonde. He had his quilt wrapped about him and his blue eyes were glazed out of focus. His face looked so exhausted that most of the anger Bucky felt drained out of him- most of it. He pushes his way into the room as Steve backed up to his bed, curling into the cocoon with the quilt. It would’ve been cute in any other circumstances.

“Steve, what’s goin’ on?” Bucky sighed, “Your Ma and I are really freaked out. We both care ‘bout cha,” the little guy just glared at him like he didn’t believe him. Bucky rubbed his forehead, “Ya still mad at me, huh? Look, ‘m sorry man. I don’t mean to baby ya, you know that. Right?”

Steve didn’t answer, just stared off into the distance. Bucky got on his knees in front of the bed, “Please, Steve. I don’t wanna yell at cha. Your my best friend and I hate seein’ ya like this. Just talk to me, bud.”

Steve looked down at him sock covered foot and chews on his pink bottom lip like he’s thinking, “I...I can’t.”

“Why not?” He tried to meet Steve’s eyes but he kept looking away.

“‘’Cause…” Steve looked like he’s about to tell before he shakes it away and frowns, “It’s nothin’.”

“Hey, hey,” Bucky cooed reassuringly, “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

Steve looked up and _was he crying?_ “No...no, I can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”

That hurt Bucky, “Steve, how long have we been friends for?”

Steve shrugged under the blankets.

“Eight fuckin’ years. I know, sounds terrible but you’re stuck with me. Ya ain’t rid of me that easily, punk.” he half-joked but Bucky knew he was telling the truth.

Steve met his eyes almost smiled at that, “I know,”

“Then ya better know that nothin’ you say is gonna change that,” Bucky rested a hand on Steve’s knee and for the first time in a month, he didn’t jerk away. He took that as a silent victory, “Scoot over, punk.”

Steve shifted his bum over a few inches to allow Bucky on the bed. Bucky was getting too big to share the little cot with his friend and was for once thankful for the size difference. He pulled Steve into his lap, still wrapped tightly in the blanket. Steve tensed at first before nuzzling into Bucky’s chest which made his heart do a little dance. He was holding his Stevie again after so long. He had felt so cold and empty without his little spoon. Bucky wrapped his arms around his best friend and kissed the mop of blonde hair, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I hope ya trust me enough to stay once you tell me what’s goin’ on in that head of yours.”

Steven looked up at them with his big doe eyes. God, did he have the most beautiful eyes; baby blue with long lashes fluttering his cheeks? So it broke Bucky’s heart to see them glassy, filled to the brim with tears. Steve had that lost puppy look as if he didn’t know why Bucky was showering him with affection instead of beating the shit of him. Bucky couldn’t look into those eyes anymore so he pulled Steve into his neck and stroked his golden hair.

“Bucky?” Steve broke the silence, his voice sounded as if he was at the brink of bursting into tears.

“Yeah?”

“Can...Can you stay tonight?”

Bucky felt his heart twist into knots at his friend’s heartbreaking tone. How could he say no to this boy? “Sure, pal.”

Bucky only left the room to left Sarah know, to Steve’s dismay. He was breathing rapidly saying, "'M sorry. 'M sorry. Please, don't leave... I'll be good...I promise...please, I promise...don't leave."

He came back into the room a minute later hearing Steve's babble, he said  “Hey, hey, it’s okay, buddy. ‘M here,” he turned off the lamp then tossed the quilt over the two of them as Steve snuggled close. It was like the riffed between them over the last few months never existed.

 

* * *

 

**October 12th, 1930**

Steve never meant to make Bucky and his Ma upset. He knows he’s been a little shit towards the two of them, pushing them away and snapping at them, particularly Bucky. He decided he wanted to make it up to them somehow. Even though Steve hated taking the money, some clients left a dollar or two as a tip and fuck no, he’d never give it to Joseph or Henry. He earned that dirty money and he’d use it on himself, or at least the people he cared for.

He’d made about fifteen dollars out of tips from the couple of months and decided to buy a meaty steak for the three of them to share out of a portion of the money. The grocer had given him a look up and down and asked if he stole the money. Steve had gotten mad and wanted to tell the man he could shove his accusations up his ass but instead, he’d ignored him as he made his purchase.

He didn’t know how to cook it so he kept it wrapped in paper in the icebox until his mother got home. When Sarah had seemed it, she was shocked white.

“Where...where did you get this?” her blue eyes were wide.

“I’ve been savin’ up a little on the side from my job,” Steve lied.

Sarah gave him a skeptical look, “You make ten cents a paper. How hard did you have to work to...to…”

Steve smiles and gave a shrug, “What can I say? I’m a very persuasive salesman.”

He didn’t know if Sarah believed him but she didn’t ask again, “Is there something we’re celebrating?”

“I’ve been a real jerk lately and I wanted to make it up to you.”

“Aww, Steven,” Sarah gave him a big bear hug, “Who’s my sweetie?”

“Ma,” Steve whined but in truth, he missed his.

Sarah rolled his sleeves and put the skillet on the stove, “We’re gonna eat like kings tonight. ‘M sure I have some spices left into the cupboard.”

“Can I invite Bucky?” Steve asked, “I need to make it up to him too."

“‘Course, honey,” Sarah smiled, slapping the large steak on the skillet, “Go over and be back in a half an hour. It should be done by then.”

 

Bucky and Steve lived streets apart from each other but Steve still sprinted over to the Barnes- and by sprint, it was more of a jog for the first block before he started puffing and wheezing. To prevent an asthma attack, Steve took his inhaler out of his pocket and took a puff. Instantly, his lungs expanded and oxygen filled them with relief.

The Barnes actually owned one of the few houses in the neighborhood. It was a white with lime green shutters and a red door that was always kept freshly painted. There was even the silly white picket fence to cage in the neat crisp green lawn. The Barneses were pretty well off compared to the one parent home of the Rogers but they never flaunted it. After church on Sundays- a Protestant one so Steve never sees Bucky at his- they volunteered at a soup kitchen for the homeless.  If you looked on the white picket fence there was a symbol cut into the wood that told the homeless that this family would help the needy. George and Winifred Barnes were always sweet to poor little Steve and always offer their home to him.

When Steve got to the red door he only needed to knock once for Winifred to open the door. She had a cheery plumpness about her with light brown curls and Bucky’s grey eyes, “Hello, Steven, how are you today?”

Steve gave her a smile, “I’m good, Mrs. Barnes. Is Bucky home?”

“He’d upstairs. I’ll call him down,” she gestured him inside. Inside was like walking into one of those home furnishing magazines with lace and floral print everywhere, “Would you like to stay for dinner? We’re having meatloaf. I know your Mama won’t mind.”

Steve shook his head and he took off his shoes at the front door. Winifred is a sweetheart but you wouldn’t dare track mud onto her carpet, “No, thank you. That’s why ‘m here for Bucky. We got somethin’ special and I wanna share it with him.”

“What is it?”

Steve tried to bite back a smile, “It’s a secret.”

Winifred nodded then called, “James! Steven is here.”

After a minute, there was thumping as Bucky made his way down the stairs. He was just pulling on his suspenders and finger combing his hair into place. He must’ve been having a lazy day as appearances were everything to Steve’s friend. Bucky gave him that lady killer smile from the top of the stairs, “Heya Steve. What’s up?”

“Can’t tell ya. Ya just have to come with me.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow and gave his mother a look. She nodded, “Go on, you two but you better be home by ten. It’s a school night.”

“Kay, Ma,” Bucky called back as he and Steve slipped on his shoes.

Bucky pestered him the whole walk back to the Rogers. Bucky hated secrets, which is why Steve knew Bucky hated he was keeping this routine on Saturdays from his, “C’mon, man. Just a hint.”

Steve pushed him gently, “No, Buck, you just gotta wait.”

“But I don’t wanna!”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Stop whining.”

 

When they finally got to the Rogers's apartment, Bucky perked up, “That...smells _really_ good. Is that… you got fuckin’ steak, man!”

“Language,” Sarah called from the stove.

Steve smiled. Even though the Barneses had more money, a steak was still a rarity.

“Sorry, Ms. Rogers,” Bucky took off his shoes and made his way to the kitchen

The three of them had an amazing dinner together, eating a filling meal and laughing. It was just like old times before the Saturdays happened. The haze was almost clear for a time. Even though he knows it’ll darken again to black by the next weekend, Steve treasured this moment.

 

* * *

 

**November 1930**

That happy moment doesn't last long. The Saturdays began to take their toll. Steve is glad it’s cold outside now and he can’t go swimming or the worry about overheating in the apartment because of the marks on his back are starting scar. There at that stage when there purple and puffy. It’ll take several months for them to turn white but it’s official. Steve can never be shirtless again because of the marred scars Joseph has given him on his back and can’t roll up his sleeves because of the deep scars he gives himself.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

Why should he care?

 

Bucky does smoke but never around Steve even though he said it’s fine but Bucky rolls his eyes and always says, “Look, pal, I ain’t gonna be responsible to you gettin’ an asthma attack. Plus, your Ma would kill me.”

Even still, if Bucky’s over, he may lite up a Lucky Stripe on the fire escape- always making sure to close the window. Sometimes, Steve will try to sneak out but Bucky bats inside and mimic the grocer whenever they try to smuggle oranges, “Go on, boy. Get outta here.”

And Steve will laugh, “Aw, just for a minute.”

Then Bucky will shoot him a glare and yell, “Git!”

 

* * *

 

**November 21st, 1930**

During one of Steve’s bad days, where the haze in unforgiving, Bucky was out smoking and Steve started on him through the window at his friend. Bucky is bundled in his jacket and scarf Winifred had knit him from Christmas last year. Steve watched the little orange light crumble the edge of the cigarette each time Bucky took a draw. He likes how the light like causes Bucky’s lips, nose, and cheeks to glow, showing off the redness the has grown out of the cold.

Steve can sit there for hours, admiring his best friend. That’s one of the reasons he likes to draw him so much. Steve knows that he shouldn’t be looking but he does anyway. He just can’t help it. Bucky has always been so handsome with his dark hair, piercing grey eyes, and strong jaw. There’s a reason all the girls practically throw themselves at him and Steve would be lying if that didn’t make him a little jealous.

On days like these, he doesn’t understand why Bucky chose him to be his best friend. Steve is nothing; just a skinny, sickly, tiny runt. Steve is worthless with not a dollar to his name. Bucky has everything; the looks, the charm, the grades, the athletic ability, the family...why would he waste his time on a nobody like Steve?

Bucky meets Steve’s eyes through the window and, instead of scolding him or giving him the “you’re making me uncomfortable" look, he smiles his lopsided smile back and makes heat flood to Steve’s cheeks. How could Steve not fall for that look?

_Dammit. I’m screwed._

Why did he have to fall for the one person he couldn’t have?

And again, what was that about Steve's special seat in Hell?

 

Later that day, Steve stares at Bucky who is patting down his pockets, “Hey, have you seen my lighter?” Steve shook his head, “Dammit, I need a smoke,” he sighed, “I’ll just wait till I get home. I got a spare.”

 

That night, Steve finds the lighter and examined it. Sarah never let Steve near Joseph’s lighters when they lived with him so it intrigued him. It was a simple, small, silver square with a latch that covered the top. Steve flipped it open, curious and rolled his thumb over the circular spark wheel.

He adds pressure and jumped when a little flame appears. Steve needed to be careful or he’d burn down the apartment complex. He stared at the little flame. He could feel the warmth but was still cold. Inside, neither light nor heat could wrap around Steve.

Steve didn’t notice the lighter’s wheel was starting to heat up and burn into Steve’s thumb. He doesn’t pull away but he acknowledged the pain through the haze. He wondered if he could farther.

He pulled back his sleeve and raises his forearm over the little flame. It takes a few seconds but soon the burn is felt through the haze and he jerks away. Just like cutting, it makes Steve feel somewhat alive.

Steve’ll return this one to Bucky but he knows he’ll be getting himself one too, just not for the same reasons as Bucky.

 

* * *

 

**December 5th, 1930**

One day at work, Steve was met by an unexpected person. He never got his name but Steve remembered him at the bald man who rap- who was there the first time. Steve was shouting headlines one minute, the next moment he was a deer in headlights.

The man saw him and his face went white. He stormed over and looked like he wanted to beat the crap out of Steve. The man seemed to know enough to consider the people around them. Instead, he coughed and gestured for a paper.

Steve blinked out of his trance, “Oh, uh, sure,” he took one out of his satchel and handed it to the bald man.

As he did the man, whispered, “Tell anyone, and I’ll kill ya. Ya get it, kid?”

Steve didn’t move. He wanted to get as far away from his attacker as possible but he was frozen to the spot.

“ _Answer,”_ the man hissed.

Steve gulped before giving a tiny nod of his head. The man abruptly left his personal space, dropping a dime on the ground, “See ya ‘round, kid.”

Steve didn’t move to pick up the dime.

He gave himself a long cut that night, this one right on his left thigh as both arms were still healing.

 

* * *

 

**December 24th**

Steve had a feeling in his gut the whole time he sat at mass. Behind all the carols and preaching of the birth of Christ, Steve was afraid of Jesus’s dismissal. How could he approve of a whore- a queer whore no less- sitting in his house and seating at his table during communion. In fact, he doesn’t go forward and receive communion at all, feeling unworthy and too ashamed. His mother asked why and he said he wasn’t feeling good.

“That was a nice service,” Sarah smiled as they walked the snowy streets, “Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded automatically. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t feel when but it wasn’t from any physical sickness. The haze was thick like a noose around his neck. Steve as aching for his knife and lighter. He wouldn’t be lying when he said he’s becoming a little addicted.

“I’m going to finish the gingerbread  tonight,” Sarah continued, brushing snow off her shoulders before entering the apartment, “Want to help?”

Steve really wanted to say no but he knew he should spend till with his mother on Christmas Eve. Tis the season.

It was a small loaf of gingerbread but it was special to Steve and Sarah. They didn't get sweets often so this was a treat and even more exciting, this got to top it with powdered sugar.

“Where’d you get this?” Steve held up the bag of powdered sugar.

Sarah smiles, putting away ingredients, “I had a little extra this week. I know I usually with get brown sugar for oatmeal but I thought this would be something special for the holidays.”

Steve smiled back, the first real smile of the day, “Thanks, Ma. Merry Christmas,” he went and gave her a hug.

“Merry Christmas, Steven.”

 

As Steve is getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth,  he sees a brown paper package on his bed. He spits and turns it over. There’s a small note on it:

 

 

> _Hey Steve,_
> 
> _I know I won’t be able to see you this Christmas. I’m visiting family in Jersey. I know, help me! But in all seriousness, I hope you have a great day with your Ma. I got this for you and you’d better accept it. You’re old ones torn to bits._
> 
> _Merry Christmas punk,_
> 
> _Bucky_
> 
>  

Steve unwrapped the paper and gasped. It was a real leather bound sketchbook with pencils Steve had seen this in the local art store; they weren't cheap. His first instinct was to return it but Bucky knew he’d do that and had insisted he’d keep it.

Steve held it close to his chest, taking in the smell of new leather and paper. He got on his bed and started drawing a face he knew all too well.

He completely forgot about his urge to cut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to end this on a sweet note  
> Hear, listen to
> 
>  
> 
> ****  
> [My Favorite Things (cover by Anna)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f96FshLZyy0)  
>   
> 
> It's got a nice jazz beat.
> 
> Thank you for your love and support!


	3. ***Author's Notes***

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

**Hiatus is over!!!**

**Skip this chapter or read to understand.**

 

Hey guys,

  
No, I have not forgotten about this fic.

I'm just going to finish up with "[Tonight, Just Breathe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15746190/chapters/36615411)" first, then I'll be back to writing for yall. It's just hard taking on two longer fics at the same thing. Don't worry, I already have an outline for the next long chapter for this one. It'll be worth the wait. I'll give you a chapter or update by New Years. Promise!

Thanks for being passionate with me, folks!

-KMO27

 

UPDATE: (Feb. 2, 2019)  
I have been working on this but my semester has been rough plus I have been sick for the past two weeks. I know I suck! Couldn't write any of my stories. Please be patient with me!

-KMO27

 

UPDATE: (March 16, 2019)

I finally got over pneumonia only to get a virus but I'm better now and am writing again. If I stay on schedule, I have 11 more chapters with my other story then I can get back to this one. When summer comes, I'll be able to write more I hope. Please be patient. I am writing this one too but since the chapters are longer, they take more time to write. I'll keep y'all updated till then. If you haven't noticed, I'm the type of writer who will update to let my reader's know what's going on. Thank you for all the support so far!

-KMO27

 

UPDATE: (April 7, 2019)

I'm almost done with this chapter or at least what I will post. I decided to split the year 1931 in half as not to overwhelm the reader. Also, I will not be deleting this ***author's note*** because of a comment from a writer that inspired me to write this fic in the first place. Thank you for your patience!

-KMO27

 

UPDATE: (April 13th, 2019)

Sooo I meant to post this chapter this week, but I just keep adding and adding and adding and adding till it's driven me crazy. At least yall will like that it's super long.

-KMO27

 

UPDATE: (April 24th, 2019)

The chapter has been posted. I have written more than I posted but I didn't want to hold it off anymore and it would take me another few weeks to finish. Thank you for waiting for me!

-KMO@7

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	4. Ya alway's a day away (1931)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to make it through life as a callboy but the haze gets too heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back yall!
> 
> Sorry for the hiatus! If you read my last Author's note, it'll explain what was happening. Also, I changed the name of this fic from "Love Letter or Suicide Note" to "To My Lost Innocense" and have made it a series. I also changed my summary to fit this fic. I am not deleting that chapter as I got acknowledgment from one of the main inspirations for this fic.
> 
> That would be [AgentRaichu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentRaichu/pseuds/AgentRaichu) and their fic ["Haze"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457212/chapters/12615788). My readers should know that "To My Lost Innocense" is a prequel to "Haze" which will show up in some of the dialogue and events. That being said, any sequel to this fic will not be a sequel to "Haze". Still, "Haze" is a great fic and has plenty of smut if you're into that. While I'm not shaming anyone on smut, my fics will be a little more story focused. That's just my style (not that there won't be sex scenes later- also there's a difference between sex scenes and rape scenes.)
> 
> I would also like to get credit to [sarahyellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow) and their fic ["Red Light"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14091468/chapters/32467218). Looking back. I should have given credit last chapter but didn't. That's my oops. This fic helped me with some of the callboy scenes as, while I tried to do research, I didn't know much about the prostitution industry back then. 
> 
> That takes me to my next point: all beside street names I tried to be as historically accurate as possible. If I slipped up, I'm sorry.
> 
> The song for this chapter is ["Tomorrow"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PzL8aL6jtI) from "Annie". This will make sense later, but my mom would sing this to me when I was a kid and hurt. I thought Sarah would sing it too if she was around then. 
> 
> Anyways, enough rambling. Enjoy!

**January 18th, 1931**

When Steve arrived at the hotel that Saturday, he didn’t know what to expect. Henry had told him it would be a little different today though all Steve could think was 'yeah, right'. He thought he’d seen all that these greedy assholes had to offer. Henry mentioned it was more than one person but that wasn’t anything. He still remembered his first time had been a foursome. Steve wanted to throw up from the memory. He still smelled the cum all over him and could never scrub it off.

He’d stormed into room 419 with a chip on his shoulder like he always did. He always had the fight in him and he wouldn’t be the good little whore for the clients. However, he froze when he saw them. Both were in their late twenties or early thirties and attractive, but one of them was a woman.

Fuck.

Steve could talk smack to any guy but he turned into a blubbering mess in front of any dame, and she was a pretty one too. She was slim with fiery red hair in perfect curls that matched her red painted lips which were quirked upwards.

“Aw, ain’tcha just the cutest. Whatcha think, Honey?”

Steve turned and saw a man that looked like he just walked out of the pictures; dark hair slicked back and sharp, clean jawline. Why were these people so gorgeous? Most of his customers were, with the exception, grizzly middle-aged white men who were sick of their wives.

These two looked like they were from Hollywood like Clark Gable and Veronica Lake. Steve took a step back as the woman stepped forward. Her green dress sloped down exposing the swell of her breast. Steve tried to look away but the women took his chin, making him look at her. A smile curled on her face, “No need to be shy, sweetie. ‘M Claire and this Tom. What should we call you?”

Steve looked between Tom and Claire. The man’s eyes showed no jealousy for Claire’s advances on him. Steve cleared his throat before answering, "St-Steve.”

 _Shit._ Steve didn’t mean to give his real name. James had told him that no one used real names in this business. James had been one of Steve’s nicer clients even if he...it didn’t matter now. The point was they knew Steve’s name now because he fucked up. He imagined Tom and Claire weren’t even their real names.

Steve bit his lip and looked down at his weathered shoes. They had a bit of mud an slush on them from the remaining snow. Claire took Steves chin again, forcing him to meet her dark lovely eyes, “Steve, huh. Well, Steve, my husband and I like to play a little game. I get fucked and he sits back and watches,” Claire giggled, “Sometimes, he’ll even join.”

“I-I-uh,” Steve stammered.

Tom came up from behind and wrapped his strong arms around Steve’s tiny waist, “C’mon, she’s more fun to touch,” he led Steve over to the bed as his wife sprawled on it.

Steve just sat there gawking like a fucking idiot before blurting, “You’re a girl!”

Claire’s brown eyes widened before releasing a throating laugh that sounded like silk, “Oh goodness, you’re such a peach, dearie. C’mere,” a moment later, Steve found his head pressed against the woman’s breasts and his ears burned pink as he listened to her heartbeat, “Guessing, you’ve neva had a lady in bed, huh, Steve?”

Steve flushed more and gingerly nodded.

“Well,” Claire titled his head up, petting his cornsilk hair, “You’ll love it. Trust me, darlin'.”

She reached over to try to kiss Steve but he turned his cheek, squeaking, “‘M sorry! “I just- I don’t kiss client,” Steve tried to explain. Usually, he’d say he had a cold sore or herpes but he couldn’t say that to a dame, “I just...want to save it…”

Claire blinked, confused, “You’ve...neva kissed before?

“‘M sorry,” Steve looked down, “It’s just...my one rule- for clients. I just want- I just…” Steve saw Claire and Tom gave each other concerned looks. For some reason, Steve didn’t want to upset her, “‘M sorry! Y-you can-”

Claire sensed his panic and shushed him, “Shhh. It’s okay, baby,” she cradled his head like his mother does when Steve’s sick, “You don’t want to be kissed, we won’t kiss you.”

Steve blinked, “...really?” usually, he has to fight tooth and nail to clients to not do something, resulting in punishments by Joseph afterward.

Tom came over and stroked his back, “‘Course, Steve. We don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Now, do you mean just the lips or everywhere.”

“Just the lips,” Steve mumbled, cuddling closer to Claire, feeding off of her warmth.

Tom nodded and traced his own lips up the column of Steve’s neck, “Alright, baby. No lips. Now,” his tone shifted, “Why don’t we see what’s under my wife’s skirt and see how wet she is? I had to keep her from touching herself while we waited for you but she got too excited.”

Claire gave a mischievous grin as she pulled up the green skirt of his dress. She wasn’t wearing panties and Steve thought his eye would bulge out of his skull. He’d never seen a woman’s sex outside of a biology book. She was shaven and pink with slick dripping around her thighs.

Tom laughed at Steve’s gawking, “My wife likes to finger her pussy when it’s nice and wet like that. But you’re gonna do it for her and with your tongue.”

“M-Me?” Steve squeaked.

Tom gave a Cheshire cat grin, “Yeah, kid, you. What? Do you not want to?”

Steve shook his head. For some reason, he wanted to please Tom and Claire. They were being so nice; no hitting, no force. They asked before doing something, “No. I mean yes- I mean, I want to. I just...are you sure it’s okay?”

Steve knew he’d be committing the sin of ‘thou shalt not covet your neighbor's wife’ which he wasn’t too happy about but that would have to bring up the point that Claire would be committing adultery and Steve didn’t want to think bad of her.

“Yeah, ‘m sure, baby,” Tom guided his hand toward Claire’s thighs, “It gets me hot! Now, c’mon, give me a show.”

Hesitantly, Steve starts to rub at her entrance, not really sure what to do. Claire takes his hand, “Right there, on that little bub,” he follows her instructions as she throws her head back in a moan. She was so wet there. Steve’s head was spinning out of control. He was touching a dame, _there._

“Put your fingers inside me,” she gasped when Steve gently pushed a finger in her. It was hot and tight. Taking from what he knew about sex, he slowly pushed in and out, “C’mon, give me more. I can take it.”

Steve met her eyes. He’d been hurt so much during sex and prep. He didn’t want to do that to her, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Claire’s eyes softened and she palmed Steve’s cheek, “No you won’t, sweetie. Trust me,” Steve nodded before adding another finger and thrusting faster if not any less gentle, “Oh, _Yes.”_ she moaned.

After a couple of minutes of listening to the little noises she made, Tom came up and gave his wife a heated kiss before he said, “Suck her. Use your mouth and fuck her with your tongue.”

Steve thought he’s pass out. This was too much. He bent down and licked at her dripping entrance. It tasted funny but sweet. Still better than any guy’s load force in his throat through a suckjob.  He wanted more.

“Oh, look at him, honey,” Claire smiled, “He’s finally gettin’ into it,” Steve pushed his tongue into her and she cried out, rubbing herself down against Steve’s face. Steve looked at saw her breasts free and her playing with them, pinching at her nipples.

When Tom commanded Steve to pull away, he took Steve’s chin in his hand and brought him to his face. Steve stiffened, for a moment he thought Tom was going to go back on his word, but Tom just smiled with a gleam in his eye, “Look at ‘cha. All messy,” Tom did kiss his chin and his cheek, coming back with slick on his lips looking at his wife, “Ya taste sweet as always, babydoll."

Then he turned back to Steve, “Need ya to do somethin’ for me.”

Steve’s eyes must have been glazed over because he was so docile, “Yes, mister?”

“I need you to fuck my wife.”

Steve’s breath lodged in his throat. Was this even happening? “O-Okay, sir. Uh, yeah.”

Tom kissed the top of his head, “Good boy.”

Steve’s cock was already hard so he just needed to slip the rubber on. He got on out of his pocket with shaking hands and rolled it on. He’s never needed one for himself before. He always had one for clients and a jar of vaseline since...he asked a queer customer for information after _that_. He’d gotten them for a consignment store with his tip money. Henry and Joseph didn’t seem to care if he contracted a disease- which he hadn’t, thankfully.

He blushed a little bit when he saw Claire looking. Steve knew he wasn’t that big but he wanted to make her feel good- and he tried.

 

Steve laid exhausted as Claire played with his hair and Tom held him. Even though he’s done wrong in the eye of God, Steve didn’t care at that moment. He’d never felt so good before. They just laid there for a bit talking and laughing. Steve was so at peace that he almost fell asleep.

When their hour was up, Tom and Claire washed up and made there leave.

“Wait,” Steve piped up, “Will I see you again?”

He tried not to sound hopeful. He never had clients so nice. He’d never enjoyed sex before. Claire pulled on her coat and turned giving him a sad smile, “‘M afraid not, dear. We are just passing by the city.”

Steve felt his heart sink. He shouldn’t have cared. He shouldn’t have gotten attached. He let out a small whimper into the pillow as the couple departed.

 

* * *

 

**February 14th, 1931**

Valentine's Day was probably Steve’s least favorite holiday. It was more humiliating than anything else- though not as bad in primary school. In primary school, students had been obligated to pass out little cards to their peers in paper bags. Steve would always get overlooked or given a backhanded compliment. Now that Steve was in secondary school, it was optional to give out valentines as there was no singular class. However, it was obvious who got the valentines and who didn’t; Steve was one who didn’t and Bucky was the one who did.

Steve had to grit his teeth as dames flocked his and Bucky’s table during lunch- he’d start eating in the cafeteria again but was regretting it now.

There was a group of three girls, whispering and giggling, as they shuffled over towards Steve and Bucky’s table. Steve recognized them as the Marsh sisters. This was something he didn’t want to see.

“Uh, Hi, Bucky!” Daphne pulled her card to cover her blushing face, “I just wanna-”

“ _We_ wanna, you mean," Judy interrupted, elbowing her sister.

“Yeah," squeaked Julie, “ _We_ made you valentines...but _mine_ is the best.”

“No, it’s not!”

“Yours is too frilly.”

“At least mine isn’t colored is glitter."

Steve got up before Bucky started to whip out his charm to calm the raving trio. Something twisted in his stomach when he heard Bucky say, “Ladies, ladies. I’d gladly take your valentines.”

Steve didn’t know what to make of what he felt. It was bitter, making his cheeks flush and heart race. What was it?

Steve turned around and saw him kiss Daphne Marsh’s hand and the feeling spiked through him. It was just courtesy. Something gentlemen do. That’s all, right?

Steve kept staring as Bucky pulled each girl close and whispered words in their ears causing their faces to turn pink and laugh. Steve jerked and stomped away. Why did he feel this way? It was the same feeling he got when he saw the damn rich kids heading to boarding school each fall with their brand spanking new clothes and polished leather soled shoes.

Steve huffed out a breath before heading to the art room for the remainder of his lunchtime, ignoring the feeling in his gut. When he got there, Steve pulled out his leather sketchbook. It still had that new leather smell that made him smile. He opened on till a new page and started to doodle.

Steve was lost in his own world until he heard a cough. He looked up and saw Virginia Samuels looking down at her feet hiding her green eyes and blushing cheeks behind a card. Steve blinked. Why was she here?

Steve had never been one for subtly so he just said, “Hey, Ginny, what’s up?”

Ginny started shifting from foot to foot and fiddled with the card. She’s always been a shy gal but nice to Steve so he didn’t push, “I just...I-” she stepped closer and whispered, “Can I ask you somethin’?”

Now it was Steve’s turn to blush, “Uhh...yeah. Sure. okay. Yeah,” he didn’t know how to shut up.

Ginny smiled, “Well...I was wondering if you would, I mean if it was possible...”

Steve cocked his head. Why was Ginny acting all weird and flustered...Oh. Steve’s cheeks grew even warmer. Did Ginny have a crush on him? “Yes?”

Ginny tucked the card close to her chest and scrunched her eyes, “CanyougivethistoBuckyforme?”

Steve blinked, “Sorry?”

Ginny coughed, “Sorry. I said...could you give this to Bucky for me?”

And there it was. Steve knew it and gave her a flat look but Ginny wasn’t looking at him anymore to see he was annoyed, “I mean, I would but he’s talked to a big group of girls and that just makes me so nervous.”

“Yeah,” Steve turned back to his sketchbook and agreed dryly, “Yeah, I get it.”

“So will ya do it?” Steve was ready to tell her to take a hike when she looked up with a distressed expression. What the hell? Ginny had always been friendly enough. Plus, Steve was a sucker for a pretty dame.

Steve sighed, “Sure, why not.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re the best!” Ginny rushed forward and threw her arms around him in a hug. Steve stiffened. Pretty girls don’t hug him….no one but Bucky and Ma hugged him without an ulterior motive…

Steve was taken out of his train of thought when the card was pushed into his hands, “Tell him I’m still waiting for that date he promised me and that if he isn’t busy with Marsh, I’m free tonight,” then she was off.

Dammit. Steve groaned, rubbing his face. He hated this. Why did _he_ have to be the one to give Bucky the fucking card? He turned it over and looked at it. The card was white with a big red heart drawn on with cursive in the inside declaring her undying love to Bucky.

For some reason, the just pissed him off more. He didn’t know why? Sure, he always knew the card wasn’t for him, so why was he upset?

When the bell rang, Steve slammed him sketchbook close and marched to his next class still in a sour mood. At the end of the day, Steve met Bucky at there usual stop to walk home; the sign with the faded school’s name that hadn’t been painted in years. Bucky was warming his hands with his breathe when Steve saw him. Steve stomped up to Bucky and smacked the lovey dovey card into Bucky’s chest, “This is from Ginny Samuels. You owe her a date and she wants it tonight. There. Now let’s go.”

Bucky blinked, taken aback, “Whoa, hold on, Stevie. Where’d this come from?”

Steve didn’t look at Bucky, giving short curt answers as he walked ahead, “Lunch. Art room. You were with Marsh.”

“Which one?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Does it matter?”

Bucky shrugged, “Not really. Well, I’ll need to reschedule with her. I already got plans. You got her number?”

“Do I look like a messenger to you?” Steve snapped stomping forward through the snow, “Hurry up. ‘M cold.”

“Jesus, you don’t got to be snippy with me,” Bucky caught up pretty quick with his long leg, “I ain’t lookin’ for a fight. If somethin’s botherin’ you, pal, ya can just tell me.”

Steve deflated, “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

They walked in silence listening to the crunch of snow under their feet. When Steve couldn’t take it anymore, he asked, “So...what’cha doin’ tonight?”

Bucky pulled out a cigarette and held it between his teeth. He wouldn’t light it with Steve around, but it was a comfort when Bucky was on edge, “Oh, ya know. The usual.”

Steve’s heart sank. Of course, Bucky was gonna have a smoking hot date from his pick of the litter. If it was a prissy prude dame, Bucky would boast about how far he’d gotten the next time they had beers, “Who’s the lucky gal?”

Steve thought he heard something sad in Bucky’s soft response, “It doesn’t have’ta be a gal…”

Steve received whiplash from how fast his head turned. His hands trembling in his pockets and his heart gave a hopeful tug that started him “Buck-”

Bucky laughed and, if Steve didn’t know better, it also sounded bitter, “Sorry, man! Awful joke. Not that funny, ya know, considerin' what happened to Jeff and Elie last week.”

Jeff and Elie were two kids from Bucky’s grade. Rumor has it that they were caught kissing by some guys who worked at the docks and got the shit beat out of them. Jeff didn’t make it and Ellie was taken to an asylum. The worst part was they had been Bucky’s friends.

Steve thinks that could be him one day after how many cocks he’d be fucked with, whether he was queer or not but God only knows and God hates Steve so why not add that to his list of sins. He coughed, “Yeah, Buck. Bad joke.”

They parted ways soon after with Steve wishing him luck on his date. When Steve got into the apartment, he found it empty. Still, over the past year, he had developed a habit of checking every room with a kitchen knife. He doesn't need another pimp. Finding the apartment empty, Steve relaxed enough to turn on the radiator. The old thing rattled but coughed to life.

Steve found a note from Sarah that she would be working late tonight and to heat up some cabbage and beef stew on the stove. Steve hated cabbage but he did so anyway as he wanted something warm in his stomach. He turned on the radio on and listened to “Amos ‘n’ Andy”. It was a negro comedy serial that Steve enjoyed. It was entertaining enough that Steve tried to catch in most nights it aired. Who cared that it was about negrios?! It was damn funny.

Afterward, Steve moved to his bedroom and worked on his homework; mostly Grammar and the Pythagorean Theorem. It didn’t take him long to finish them so he fished out a comic Bucky let him borrow.

Steve must have drifted because he woke up from a chill. Steve shivered and rolled over, curling into a ball. Where did that wind come from?

“Steve? Hey, Stevie, wake up,” Steve sat up like he was shocked by lightning to see Bucky climbing in his window.

Steve sighed and flung himself back down on the bed, “Dammit, jerk, don’t scare me like that.”

“Then don’t be such a chicken shit,” Bucky poked him, “C’mon, get up. I got big plans for us tonight.”

Steve opened one eye and glared at him suspiciously, “Why me? Don’t’cha got a date?”

Bucky shrugged, “Eh, wasn’t in the mood for any of them lot. I got something better?”

Steve rubbed his face, “What’s better than a chance to have sex for you?”

Bucky smacked his head with a rolled up magazine then opened it to shove in his face, “Read this. These this super trashy romantic picture playing in the theater behind the speakeasy on 7th tonight. It’s for adults only but I paid Jorden- the guy in my Algebra class, he works there- five bucks to let us in.”

Steve looked at the magazine and the first thing he noticed was it was full of pin ups and smut. The second was the ad of the movie Bucky was talking about. It sounded like smut also.

Steve didn’t want to know where Bucky got the magazine but gave his older friend a quizzical look, “You gave up a night of sex to watch a movie with me 'bout sex? Bucky, where is the logic in that?! You don’t need to pay five bucks to see a pair of tits and ass. You could’ve had that tonight.”

Bucky gave a guilty shrug, “Yeah, but this is Jean Harlow’s tits and ass.”

Steve still gave him a look, “Does it make a difference to who it is?”

Back find a gasp, “Steve, do you think so low of me that I would just fuck every dame that bats you eyes at me?”

“Yes,” Steve answered flatly.

Bucky shook his head and rolled up the magazine again, “After all these years, the truth comes out. You were like a brother to me and now this? THIS is my cruel fate. I’ve been living a lie. You are no longer my brother!”

Steve can’t take him seriously and laughed, “Enough of the Shakespeare, Clark Gable. Seriously, why do this with me of all people?”

Bucky frowned, “What do ya mean? What’s wrong with wantin' to have fun with my best friend?”

Steve shrugged, keeping his face from heating up by what Bucky was certainly not meant to imply, “‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day. The day of lovers,” Steve forces a smile, “Go on. Go find Ginny. I’m sure she will-”

“I don’t want to!” Bucky blurted dropping next to Steve on the cot. He looked like he was struggling to find words and what to do with his hand so he ended up patting Steve’s boney knee, “I-I want to just have fun with you tonight. I can have sex any day. Who says Valentine’s day is the only day to do that?”

Steve looked into Bucky’s grey eyes. His pupils were blown. Oh no. That wasn’t a good sign. Steve recognized the look from his clients. He should be scared but there was so much warmth in that steal ring no just lust. Steve didn’t mind. In fact, were his pupils big too?

 

* * *

 

**March 3rd, 1931**

It seemed like this winter will never end. During March, a blizzard made its way through New York. Once again, Steve is forced out into the weather for his newspaper job with a jacket two sizes too small and ratty gloves and hat. According to those exact papers, it was supposed to be the coldest month of the winter season.

One day, Steve came home with a sniffle. The next it turned into a full on cold with a cough rattling his lungs, noses stuffed up, and his head was fuzzy. Sarah ordered him to stay under the covers and she called him out of school for a few days, “I will not let this get any worse, Steven Grant. I can’t have another heartache every winter. You’re givin’ your poor mother grey hair.”

Steve smiled, “You don’t have grey hair.”

Ma smiled, handing him a warm bowl of stew, “Well, not yet but it'll come early.”

Steve gulped down the warm stew and felt the heat pool in his stomach. After he was done, Sarah insisted he rested and she would wake him for fluid in a few hours. Steve coughed but managed to get out a “Thanks, Ma.”

“And don’t use your hand. Use the handkerchief. I just cleaned it so don’t spread the germs,” Sarah called as she left the room.”

Steve closed his eyes, answered an automatic, “Yes, Ma.”

 

* * *

 

**March 5th, 1931**

Steve didn’t get better as the week progressed. He was starting to get worried he wouldn’t be better by Saturday. Would Henry let him take a sick day? Did whores get sick days? He didn’t know but Steve knew Joseph wouldn’t care.

Steve could already hear what his father would say: _Ungrateful lil’ bitch. Aint ‘cha? Wasting my time and money as usual. Sometimes I think I’d get more out of you for life insurance that as a shitty cumslut._

 

* * *

 

**March 7th, 1931**

Steves stands outside sneezing for five minutes before stepping into the 20’s hotel. He finds Henry waiting reading a copy of “The Maltese Falcon” while leaning on the front desk. The bell hob spotted Steve and whispered to Henry, who looked up with a smile curling his lips.

Henry shut the book before waltzing over to Steve, “There you are, sweet boy. Didn’t think you were going to show. You know what happens if you don’t show, right?

Steve stiffened and sniffed, “Y-yes, sir.”

Henry enclosed your arms around Steve’s waist and pet his hair. Steve leaned into the touch, not caring what the bell hob thought anymore; he was in on the whole thing. Steve had once tried to get the guy to call the police but he’d just called Henry over. There was a long lash on his long back for punishment, “That’s it, sweet boy. I don’t want to hurt your poor dear mother but if you do this again. I may not have any choice.”

Steve tensed in his grip, panicking, “No. No, please, no. I was sick and I didn’t want to-” he jerked away to cough into his elbow. It sounded wet.

Henry didn’t look amused and shook his head, “Oh, Steve, what am I goin’ do with you?”

Steve’s panic grew. He couldn’t let Sarah get hurt because of his poor health, “Please. I-I can work. I can-” he went into another coughing fit.

“I know you can,” Henry’s voice cooed, “I just can’t let clients know you're sick or it might scare them off. Let’s see, have you taken medication?” Steve shook his head and Henry sighed, pulling out a gold pocket watch, “Hmm, it’ll bite into your first client’s time but it’ll have to due. Simon?” the bellhop looked alert, “Go down to the drug store down the block- the one that stays open late- and buy White Pine and Tar Cough Syrup. It’ll work like a charm.”

Steve had heard of White Pine and Tar Cough Syrup. Sarah doesn’t let him use it because she has had a lot of people get sicker from it. Short term relief for a long term illness. Steve was too scared to say something though.

“Go take a seat while I talk to the client real quick” Henry gesture to the waiting room, “Don’t go anywhere, sweet boy. I’m sending Joseph down in a minute.”

Steve bowed his head and murmured, “Yes, sir.”

Steve took a seat on what used to be a fancy couch but the paint had faded and the springs creaked. Steve looked around, bored when he saw another boy sitting in the corner. He had a syringe in hand and was pushed something through his arm, head lolled back.

“What are you doing?!” Steve rushed over and jerked the guy awake.

The guy jumped, needle dropping to the ground, “Damnit, man. Now, I gotta wash it.”

Steve blinked, taking in the kid’s appearance. His brown hair was disheveled, his eyes were hollow, and he was skinnier than Steve- and that was an accomplishment. Overall, he looked unhealthy. “You never answered me. What the hell are you doing?”

The guy pulled up the syringe and flicked the bottle, “Heroin. Need a kick before the night starts. Last longer and harder that weed.”

Steve’s face paled and he pulled back, “Night starts…”

The guy gave him a look. He couldn’t be more than sixteen, “Ya know. I seen Henry talkin’ to you too. You couldn’t think a pimp would be satisfied with one boy, right?”

That made Steve’s heart sink. There were others like him out there? Steve whispered, “Couldn’t we call the police now while Henry’s upstair-”

The guy laughed without mirth, “Please, cops don’t give a shit for whores. If they ain’t fuckin’ us in the first place, they’d arrest us. God, how old are you that ya don’t know that?”

Steve looked away, “Do you really wanna know?”

The guy pulled out a cigarette and lit one, “Not particularly, no. You look like your fuckin’ ten though so I’d rather not know,” he took a drag, “‘Ve been in the business for too long, kid. There's no way out. Henry and J’s got dirt on all of us. Sometimes I think it just be easier to jump off the Brooklyn bridge. Ya know what ‘m sayin’, kid?”

Steve nodded before coughing from an exhale of smoke.

The guy sighed and wiped the needle with a handkerchief, “Want some, pal? Ya look like you could use a dose.”

Steve declined. He maybe a glutton for punishment but he wasn’t that far gone. He’d stick to cutting when he got home. The guy shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

But then again...how long will that state the haze, the fog that haunts his life. How long would he last as Joseph’s slut? Would he resort to drugs in the end like this guy here?

His train of thought was broken when the elevator door clanked open to revel Joseph, “Boy! Not in the lounge!”

 

* * *

 

**March 10th, 1931**

Steve thought about the other callboy over the next couple of days. He didn’t want to be a shell of a person. What kind of life would that be...then again what kind of life was this? Steve hadn’t taken a philosophy class but he does know of Darwinism from reading the short story of “The Most Dangerous Game” where a man hunts down his guest in a game of survival of the fittest.

If Steve was fit to survive, he wouldn’t get sick all the time or shaken by a strong breeze. He wouldn’t need his mother to spend every cent on his medication and inhaler. She could live in a better apartment, buy new dresses, find a new husband...no man wants to be a step dad to Steve.

If Steve was fit to survive, he could hold is own in a fight. He could beat up those who call Bucky a queer for always helping him. Bucky could have a friend he was proud to have around with other people. Bucky could be popular in school if wouldn’t be dragged down be a “sickly, weak little fairy!”

He wasn’t fit to survive.

Everyone would be better if he was dead.

The haze suffocated little Steve, making it hard to breathe. He excused himself from class and locked himself in a stall in the bathroom. Steve covered his mouth to muffle the quiet sobs leaving his body. His bony shoulders moved up and down and tears soaked his shirt. The haze was so dark he couldn't see anything but black. Steve wanted his knife. That could clear the haze. That could make things better...but Steve doesn’t ever bring it to school. He can’t risk leaving a mess.

So he waited.

 

By the time the bell rings, Steve is so on edge Bucky calls him out on it, “Pal, you’re as tight as piano wire. What’s up?”

Steve sneezes, still holding on to that cold, “Nothin’. Just having a tough time in Grammar. Can’t get the hang of semicolons and I have a quiz tomorrow.”

Bucky nodded, accepting the lie- Steve was getting better at lying, “Ya know, you can always ask me for help. Grammar was easy for me.”

Steve nodded, wiping his nose, “‘ll think ‘bout it,” All Steve wanted to do was get home to his knife. He needed to dig it into his wrist until he saw nothing but red.

“Kay,” Bucky pulled his white scarf over his nose, “So you still on for “Dracula” tonight?”

Steve blinked out of his haze, “Huh?”

“Ah, c’mon, man! Don’t tell me you forgot we got tickets to the scariest movie ever. Unless you’re chicken.”

“I ain’t chicken,” Steve mumbled but didn’t have the enthusiasm to shout like normal.

When he said their goodbyes, Bucky said something about the time he’d be over but Steve wasn’t paying attention. He rushed into the apartment and scrambled to pull out his pocket knife under the bed. Actually, now he had three and two lighters. This knife was newer and lighten the haze the most.

Steve made sure his mother wasn’t home before entering the bathroom. He was in such a hurry, Steve forgot to lock to the door. Steve pulled up his sleeves and started lashing into his arm. The cuts were deep and blood began to pool quickly, staining to sink and his sleeve. Steve waited for the pain to work its course. The Haze started to lighten...but it wasn’t enough. _Steve_ wasn’t enough.

Thinking back to the short story, Joseph has the hunter in his story and he was determined to win this battle of power. But Steve wouldn’t let him win with his own hands. He didn’t want to play the game anymore.

Steve took his knife and dug deeper. One cut. Two cuts. Three cuts. Four. Just like Steve had wished for all he would see was red. Steve sat in the tub and waited. He started to feel cold and numb. Steve wouldn’t stop the bleeding.

The last thing Steve remembers is wishing he’s talked to Bucky more on the way home…

 

****

Bucky had been knocking for five minutes. Where was the little punk? Bucky had told him he’d only be a half an hour. He pulled his jacket around and headed for the fire escape. Bucky had to be careful as it was covered in black ice and snow.

When he got to Steve’s window, Bucky found it unlocked. He slid inside finding Steve’s room empty. His bed was still made like evermore, not even crumbles, so Steve hadn’t been in his bedroom. Bucky then checked the main room and kitchenette and saw Steve’s bag tossed on the floor; so he was home.

“Steve?” Bucky called out. What he okay? He’d been a little stressed during the walk home. Had something happened during that time?”

“Steve?” Bucky checked Sarah’s room and found nothing. The only place left was the bathroom, “Steve? Hey, buddy, are you okay?” there was no response, “Look, I don’t wanna walk in on ya takin’ a dump but you're worryin’ me, pal. Can you answer?”

Bucky heard a groan as a reply. Steve didn’t sound good, “‘Kay, ‘m comin’ in. Be decent.”

Bucky opened to door to see a horror show. Blood covers the sink and tiles leading to the tub when Steve laid, white as a sheet, “STEVE!”

Bucky rushed forward to pick up his best friend, “Steve?! Stevie! C’mon, say somethin’. _Anythin’!_ Please!” Bucky felt big fat tears fall down onto the tiny blonde’s pale cheek. Steve looked so white and small and fragile and oh god there was so much blood!

Finally, Steve’s blue eyes slowly opened and it was the most gorgous thing Bucky had ever seen, “Uh...Buck?”

Bucky cried more, “Yes! Yes, Steve. ‘S me. ‘S your Buck,” Bucky sat his friend up before grabbing a towel and pressing it down on the cuts. Oh god, but their were so many! And so deep! “Stevie!” he cried, “Stevie, why?!

”Mmm...? No, ‘s okay. ‘s just some cuts.”

“JUST SOME CUTS??” Bucky broke in despair and rage, “You sliced up your arms!!”

“Buck…’s fine. ‘M sorry. Didn’t mean fer y’ t’ see,” Steve’s head lulled over to Bucky’s shoulder, baby blues rolling back.

“No, no. Stevie! Stevie, you stay with me. Stay with me, ‘kay? Stay awake!” Bucky yelled out rambles. He needed to call for an ambulance but if he let go of the pressure on  Steve’s arm, he could bleed out. He needed to stop the bleeding. Taking what he learned from a first aid class a couple of years ago, Bucky undid Steve’s belt and strapped it tight right above the elbow. Bucky thought this was for amputation so this should stop the blood.

“You’re gonna be okay, Stevie,” Bucky gingelly picked up Steve’s frail little body up but the dumb ass was helplessly struggling.

“Y’ should…stop.” Steve slurred,  “My choice. ‘S fine. Too dented. Gotta throw m’self ‘way. Duh.”

Bucky didn’t need to listen to this right now. It was like a stab in the gut to hear that self-destructive bullshit coming from his best friend, but he needed to keep him talking, “What? Dented? What’cha talkin’ ‘bout?”

”Dyin’. Duh.” Steve coughed a little, “Y’ know dad wan’s me gone, Buck, he’s tried ‘nough ‘mself…”

“What?! Steve, your pa is a piece of work but he’d fuckin’ out of your life, right?” the silence wasn’t reassuring but that could be brought up another time. Bucky remembered the time Steve was talking about. About four years ago, Joseph busted little Steve’s head open. That _had_ been the scariest moment of Bucky’s life before this.

Bucky knew there was only one phone in the apartment complex so he raced to the landlord’s open two floors down. His heart was racing like a hummingbird then abrupting stopped when he saw the note saying _Closed. Open tomorrow at 8_.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Bucky smacked the door. Steve was starting to whimper and shaking from cold. Bucky was running out of time. He started pounding on random doors in a panic, “HELP! PLEASE, SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!”

But nobody came.

Bucky began to cry. What could he do? Bucky would die if Steve didn’t make it! He had to get home. Home.  Safe. Phone. Close.

Bucky began to sprint, clutching onto Steve’s tiny body. He still had the towel tied into his arm but blood was seeping into Bucky’s shirt. What was worse was it was pouring and hailing outside. The remaining snow was hard to trudge through. It made the blood run more, “Almost there, Stevie, almost there.”

“Noo, stupid…! Lemme…lemme go…”

“Shut up, ya punk!” Bucky made his way to this house and stormed through the front door without taking off his muddy shoes.

Winifred wasn’t pleased, “James, you know to take off your shoes-”

“CALL AN AMBULANCE!” Bucky screamed through his tears.

Winifred looked started, “James, what…” then she gasped seeing the blood, “Oh my goodness, James! A-Are you…”

“It’s not me, it’s Steve. Please! Call the hospital! NOW, MA! I CAN’T LOSE HIM!”

WInifred rushed back into the kitchen. Bucky heard her dial so he turned his attention towards Steve. Steve was mumbling to himself, “Dun’ wanna go t’ the hos’pt’al, idiot! S’ why I di’n’t call ‘em! It’s…it’ll be fine…”

”What? Steve, no, just… you’re okay, we’ve got you,” Bucky tried not to scream anymore and make his voice soft. He didn’t want to scare Steve. ”I’ve got you, Stevie, you’re gonna be fine, you stupid punk…just don’t ever…never again, you hear me?!”

Steve didn’t answer. Bucky checked for a heart beat. He found it but it was slow. Winifred came back into the main hallway, where Bucky and Steve were sitting on the floor, with a rag to replace the blood soaked towel, “There’ll be here soon, honey. What happened?”

Bucky shrugged, wiping his nose and eyes, “Don’t know. Found him this way.”

That was a lie. Bucky knew exactly what he saw. He knew Steve was trying to kill himself but he couldn’t tell. It was illegal in New York to attempt suicide. Steve would be put away for this. Bucky just has to pray that the doctors kept things like this confidential.

 

[Link to source artist](http://lightningstrikes-art.tumblr.com/post/139588453704/hang-in-there-steve)

 

********

Sarah was doing her rounds in the TI ward when one of her colleagues told her the news. All she wanted to do was finish her shift by eight and spend time with Steve tomorrow. She had taken the day off so she could take him and James to Coney Island as a treat. That was kept her going through this morbid position; seeing her little Steven smile.

So when Sarah was told by a fellow nurse that Steve was in the emergency wing, she dropped everything and stormed over there. She could remain composed but no one was going to work on her baby boy without his mother.

When Sarah saw her boy, her reason to live, lying there face white as a sheet getting cut out of bloody school clothes, her whole world stopped. Her sweet baby boy’s left arm was cut to ribbons with one deep gash going vertical to his tiny forearm. Sarah knew what she was looking at and scattered the other nurses.

“‘ll take care of this,” Sarah wiped the deepest cut with a cloth and already put the thread through the eye of the needle.

The other two nurses looked sympathetic, “Sarah, there’s nothing you can do. Even if he lives, he’ll be sent to Bloomingdales-”

“GET AWAY FROM MY SON!” Sarah screamed, “ _I_ will write the report. It was an animal attack, ya hear me?! If I hear either one of you breathe so much as a word of this to Dr. Stone, I will cut your throats to the bone and leave your body in a ditch like some call back alley Sally. Do I make myself clear?”

Sarah’s cutthroat response startled herself as much as the other girls but a mother will do anything for her child. The two owlish nurses nodded, “Good. Not get me O negative stat,”

They scurried away as Sarah tied the first knot of her son’s arm. Her baby winced a little and it broke her heart. He was allergic to anesthesia so she had him swallow some pain killer. She didn’t think Steve was concussed anymore.

“Oh, Steve. My poor, Steven. I don’t know why you’d do this but please stay alive for me. ’ll make things better for you, I promise. I’ll make due to buy those oil pastels you like so much. ’ll get you new shoes that fit your feet with leather soles. ’ll take you to see to France to the Louvre or make sure the Dodgers make it national just for you, sweetheart.”

Sarah felt tears roll down her face but ignored them as she closed another cut and started wrapping up forearms with bandages. Sarah wiped the wisps of Steve’s fringe and kissed his forehead, whispering, “You neva’ gotta step foot into Bloomingdales, ya hear me. Neva. I don’t care if you’re sick or ya crazy or ya even queer. Mama will keep you safe. She’ll keep the bad men away. All you have to do is wake up for me, sweetie.”

Then she softly sang to him "Shenandoah" though she was sure he couldn't hear.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, this was supposed to be longer but yall wanted a chapter and to be frank, it has been five months. The other chapters split in half too.


	5. You'll Never Walk Alone (1931)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is determined to find out what is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> Thank you for everyone's thoughts for my sister and I. Unfortunately, my sister is back in the inpatient again. At this point, I just hope she will pass the school year. Also, my grandpa's cancer is back again. We're not sure if he'll make it so keep him in your prayers for me. I'm not looking for pity, but understanding that I have things going on in my life so updates may reflect life. (Don't worry, I won't kill Sarah off with cancer suddenly. This story's key moments will follow canon for the most part)
> 
> On another sad note: let's talk about Endgame (SPOILERS)
> 
>  
> 
> I have two opinions about Steve's farewell. Part of me is like "Aw that is so fitting and sweet" and another is "WTF he just left Bucky??? That is very out of character for him." I feel conflicted....anyone else?
> 
>   **Warning: rape and non-consent themes**

**March 13th, 1931**

****

Steve doesn’t remember going to sleep. Actually, he doesn’t remember anything from the past few days. Let’s see: Bucky walked him home, he went to get his knife, he was cutting and- oh, yeah. He’d tried to kill himself. Then Bucky found him.

Steve sat up and saw he was in a hospital. Oh no, was he at an insane asylum? Was he locked up? Oh, god. Oh, god. Why hadn’t he dug deep enough? What is he going to do without his Ma? Without Bucky? Oh god, what will Henry and Joseph do to them when he doesn’t show up on Saturday.

Steve tried to get out of bed but his head swam and he went sideways crashing into a metal table with tools. So much for being subtle. His room’s walls were only sheets so he must have alerted the people next to him because one shouted, “Uh, nurse! I think the kid next to me needs help.”

Shit!

Steve tried to stand up but his legs were like noodles. Oh god, he’d heard awful things about asylum nurses. Would they beat him like Joseph or force ice baths on him or worse. His breathing hitched and his lungs scream for air. He searched for his inhaler but he was wearing a hospital gown.

Hyperventilating and unable to stand, Steve shrank into himself as he heard the clinking of heels coming closer until, “Steven? Steve!”

Sarah collapsed to the ground. She pulled out an inhale, “Open up, sweetheart,” Steve obliged and she put the nozzle in his mouth and pushed down on the plunger. Steve immediately felt his lungs opening up. He was able to see his mother, which confused him, “Ma...why? Why are you here in...in an asylum?”

“What? No, no, sweetie. You’re not in Bloomingdales. ‘ll neva’ let them take ya away from me,” Sarah kissed Steve’s forehead, holding him close. Steve breathed in her vanilla perfume and disinfectant cleaner. He melted into his mother, round and soft, “We are gonna talk about this though.”

“Ma-”

“No,” her voice was stone, “‘m not gonna go through this again. Ya can’t make me. I saw the bathroom…”

Shit. Steve didn’t think about that. He should’ve tried to kill himself someplace no one would find him.

“Steve, please, ya gotta promise you’ll neva’ do that again. Not to me,” blue eyes meet blue eyes. Steve didn’t answer right away, “Steven.”

Steve broke the eye contact, “Yes, Ma.”

 

****

When Bucky visited, he just stood there for a good five minutes letting Steve feel his hurt, his rage, his confusion, all wrapping together. Steve fumbled with the sheets, no meeting Bucky’s steely gazing, “Buck, I-”

“Shut up,” Bucky’s tone was flat, “Do you have any idea how stupid that was, Steve? Your Ma had a fit. I was freaking out. It’s bad enough I have to worry if you’ll make it every time ya get sick; _now_ I gotta worry about ya killin’ yourself again. _Seriously?!_ How was that fair to me?”

 

****

Steve shrunk down into himself. Bucky was mad at him. Ma was upset.

They Hated Him.

Awful. Worthless. Trash, Scum.  Piece of Shit. Worthless. Whore. Cumslut. Fairy. Worthless. Freak. Moron. Crazy. Mad. Worthless.

Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless 

Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless

Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless

Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless

Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless

Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless Worthless

 

He should’ve dug deeper.

 

****

Bucky had tons left he wanted to say but now didn’t seem the time. Steve was curled into a ball hiding from him. Bucky made his way over to the medical cot and knelt down taking Steve’s hand like a lover, “Hey, hey, buddy. Talk to me. I just wanna know what’s goin' on. I’m just upset at the situation. ‘m mad that you didn’t feel comfortable enough to talk to me. Ya don’t gotta be ‘manly man got no feelin’s’ with me, bud.”

Steve was wheezing, “I...I…”

Bucky rubbed Steve’s back, “Breath with me. One, two, three... One two, three…”

Steve wasn’t listening, “I..I..c-can’t. I..can’t, B-Buck.”

“Shh...breathe with me. One, two, three...One, two, three… One, two, three…” After about five minutes, Steve’s breathing evened, “That's it. You’re doin’ great, Stevie. Just keep breathing. Now, why can’t you tell me- hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s-”

Then something clicked. Thinking back, Steve kept mentioning Joseph “Stevie...did-did your Pa  hurt _hurt_ you?”

“What? No!” Steve says too quickly, pushing Bucky away, “W-Why would you say that?”

“Steve,” Bucky made his tone flat, “I need you to tell me the truth.”

“I don’t gotta tell ya shit,” Steve deflecting bring up his knees.

“Bullshit, after everything that just happened. I deserve some truth! I just-” Steve was shrinking again. Bucky could tell Steve was like a lost puppy, cowering and snapping at anything coming close wanting to help. Bucky lowered his voice, “I just want you to feel ya can be honest with me, Stevie. ‘s that too much to ask?”

Steve only stared at his knees, not looking at him. He nodded but said nothing, “‘M tired. Can you let me sleep?”

Bucky patted Steve’s back, “Sure thing, pal.”

But the truth was he still needed answers, He needs to learn the truth and by God, he’ll fucking find out.

 

* * *

 

**March 15th, 1931**

Ever since Steve got out of the hospital, his Ma and Bucky haven’t left him alone for five minutes. Steve kept looking at each clock he passed by as it became closer to 10 on Saturday. Bucky wanted to go out dancing at a club that served alcohol to those under age. Steve told Bucky he wasn’t feeling well but Bucky wouldn’t let up.

“Aw, c’mon, punk!” Bucky whined, “When was the last time ya went dancing with me? ‘Ll make it worth your while and it’ll be just the two of us.”

“Can’t, man,” Steve smiled but shrugged, “My I'll be home so we’re havin’ a family dinner.”

“Dinner won’t last all night, pal.”

“Told ya I ain’t feelin’ good. Maybe another time.”

 

Steve did eat corned beef with his Ma but, like Bucky, he said he wasn’t feeling good. Again, Sarah wanted to get involved.

“Honey, do I need to get you syrup for a cold or is it your blood pressure?”

“No, Ma,” Steve waved her off, “It’s just my stomach. Think I just need to sleep it out.”

“Do I need to go to the drug store for anything?”

“No, Ma, but thank you.”

Even when Steve went to bed, he still couldn’t leave because Sarah checked on him every ten minutes until passed ten when the light under the door went out. At that point, Steve was already late but he still put on his snow boots on and made it out the window to the 20’s hotel.

Little Steve was wheezing and puffing to make it through two feet of snow and it just kept on coming. He felt his toes and nose go numb by the time he came to the swiveling door. Steve didn’t even stop to take off his boots before making his way over to the bellhop, “‘M…’m h-here. T-Tell...Hen..Henry…”

“Tell Henry what?” Steve jumped as he saw Henry sitting in the lounge area with one leg over the knee and a cigar at his lips that were pressed in a thin line, “Tell Henry why my sweet boy didn’t show?”

Steve trembled in place and wrang his hands for warmth and for them to do something, “I-I couldn’t leave, sir. I couldn’t leave. I..I…” Steve tried to come up with an excuse. He didn’t want to blame other people for worrying about Steve because that could paint a target on their backs, “...I...uh…I had homework.”

Steve cringed at his own lie but Henry’s lips stretched in a Cheshire cat smile, “Oh, Steven-”

“WHERE THE FUCK IS THE LIL’ SHIT?!” came screaming Joseph with little finesse. He saw Steve shaking like a leaf, “YOU! Upstairs. Now. Your customer is pissed and-”

“Joe,” Henry sided, “Not in the lobby. Please, use some restraint. This _is_ a public space after all.”

Steve wanted to laugh. He’d never seen a real resident of the building. Steve thought this was Henry’s way of sticking it to the point who was in charge. Steve could tell Joseph was a rabid pitbull on Henry’s leash, just a big bully. Henry was more of a serpent waiting to strike. Steve didn’t like Henry but Henry held the leash; for both Joseph and Steve. Steve wondered just what Joseph owed Henry: probably money from his gambling habit. Would’ve been justice if he wasn’t using Steve to pay his debt.

“Let’s take this upstair,”  Henry stood and straightened his coat, “Joe, tell the customer that if he is patient for a lil’ longer, he’ll get a half hour free and he can happily participate in our,” cough, “demonstration.” Steve did not want to know what a _demonstration_ was as Joseph growled and turned to use the elevator, “Use the stairs. Need to have a lil’ chat with our boy.”

Joseph didn’t look happy about that predicament but nodded and took his leave. Well, at least Steve wasn’t having the shit beat out of him on the spot but that wasn’t Henry’s style. Henry guided Steve into the elevator, pushing the button for the fifth floor. Steve wished the elevator was manual so he wouldn’t be left with Henry while the man was mad at him.

The ride was in silent beside the music but Henry didn’t remove his hand from Steve’s shoulder and Steve was too scared to shove it off. When the bell dinged, Steve made his move to open the grate but Henry’s hand stopped him. Steve looked up into Henry’s calculative gaze. It flickered to his arms, “Take off your coat, boy.”

Steve tilted his head, confused, “Sorry?”

Henry raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “Did a stutter?”

Steve looked away, “No, sir,” and peeled off his wet wool coat. There wasn’t a coat rack or a chair to hang it on to dry in the elevator so Steve awkwardly folding it over and tucked it under his arm. Steve waited for further instructions.

Turns out he didn’t need to. Henry snatched one of his slim wrists and pulled down the sleeve to reveal his heavily bandaged arm. Henry smiled and caressed the bandaged, “A lil’ birdy told me you were in the emergency ward this week. Told me there were long gashes in your arm. Care to explain?”

Steve’s heart dropped into his stomach, “I...I-”

“No need. I know what happened. Lil’ birdy said it was an animal attack but you and I know better. You think I don’t see those cuts on your arms and legs when your gettin’ dressed?” Henry chuckled sadly, “It’s okay, I understand. I might be the only one who’ll understand you. After all, hurtin’ yourself is for crazy men. No one else will get it. What I don’t understand is why you tried to leave me. Sweet boy, how could you do that to me?”

Henry was trying to make Steve feel guilty for _his case_? Please, Steve would rather-

“I’d have to drag poor, beloved Sarah into this mess,” Henry tried to rub dirt off Steve’s shirt, “Not quite a pleasantry for me but Joe does seem to miss her dearly. Though he does have one of my girls each night, that scoundrel, he’d like a woman in his house again. Now, we both know Joe has no patience with you, boy, but who’s to say what his temper would be like to your mother’s...let’s say liberal sensitivities.”

Henry said that last part like it was between an “us girls” chat but Steve got the underlying message and it scared him. By god, if Steve had succeeded, he would’ve thrown his Ma to the wolves. Steve clutched to Henry’s lapel, begging for his mother, “No, no. It won’t happen again. Please, sir. Just...just please leave my mother alone.”

Henry lilted Steve’s chin up, “Will you be my sweet boy and take your punishment well? No matter what it’ll be?”

Steve nodded, “Anything.”

“Excellent,” Henry picked up Steve’s arm again, “Ya know these will leave scars,” then he grinned, “Scars that'll mark you as mine. I made my sweet boy do this to himself. You couldn’t get away. They will remind you who you belong to, Steven.”

Steve doesn’t remember leaving the elevator, only that he was shaking and ice ran through his veins. Henry knocked on the door and Joseph opening it to show another striped room with ugly green sheets on the bed. However, there were two differences there was a light and camera set up and a client; a client that Steve knew, “Dr. Robertson?”

Charles Robertson went to Steve’s church and sat in the row behind Steve and Sarah. He ran a small clinic that Steve had gone to most of his life. Steve had grown up playing in his backyard when he was very young after mass with Charles’ children little Harry and Gladys while Sarah had coffee with Charles and his wife. Charles well built and well-kempt, even now his hair was slicked back with the edges graying and sweat showing on his brow, face pale, “Steven?”

“Dr. Robertson, what are you doing here?” It was a stupid question but Steve was flabbergasted. He went to school with this man’s kids. He had history with Harry last year. He’d gone into a checkup for the cold a few weeks ago. How could this be happening?

Charles looked uncomfortable. Henry looked between them and frowned, “Is there a problem, sir?”

Charles looked back at Steve’s pleading look. Maybe Dr. Robertson would help. He was church friends with Steve’s ma still. That hope was destroyed when Charles uncomfort turned into a scowl, “No, sir,” then he spoke to Steve, “So you’re a hooker? What’s your Ma gotta say about that?”

Steve’s face flushed up, “I don’t know. So you’re an adulter? What’s your wife and kids think?”

Joseph immediately slapped Steve across the face, “Watch it, bitch.”

Charles looked unimpressed, “No manners or punctuality. No wonder you had to become a whore. You couldn’t keep any other job.”

It hurt hearing that from someone Steve knew so well..well thought he knew. Steve tried to lung but Joseph grabbed him, “What did I say? God, how stupid are ya? Can’t follow a simple order. How’d ya make it out of primary ‘ll neva know, ya twit?”

Henry tisked, “Sweet boy, I thought you said you’d behave for me.”

Steve goes limp in Joseph’s grasp at the threat and grits his teeth, “S-sorry, sir.”

“Much better. Now, go stand in front of the client over there.”

Joseph throws Steve in Charles direction who stumbled at the client’s feet. When Steve looks up, Charles frown deepened, not bothering to help him up. Steve stood and returned the grimace. Henry wasn’t thrilled, “Now, now, Steven. Be polite. This is a paying customer after all.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Fine, let’s get this over with. Want me to bend over or give ya a suck job.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, “Blunt, ain’tcha? What happened to courtesy and foreplay?”

“I don’t do that, Robertson,” Steve dropped the formality. Charles wasn’t on his side so he’d lost his respect, “I go in and out. You want anything fancy, ya ask for another boy. I ain’t no peach to scum like you.”

Charles’s eyes flared and he backhanded Steve, “God, the mouth on you. It’s about time someone taught you a lesson.”

Steve tensed when Joseph grabbed him by the shirt and threw him on the bed. Steve knew he was about to be beaten before he was raped. Usually, the order is reversed but nothing really surprises him anymore. Steve didn’t register as his clothes were violently torn from his body and his arms being held down. He was desensitized to the feeling now or, in better words, he lets himself float away. He repeatably counted the stripes on the wall till he isn’t there anymore.

Sure he feels every hit of the belt from Joseph sting his back and ass but he’s not there. Steve just goes limp. Of course, Steve knows this will anger Joseph making him want to hit harder till Steve is a bloody mess.

Steve to drawn back to his body when Charles said, “Gimme here, Joe,” then Steve was flipped onto his back and he hissed in pain. He stared into Charles gaze as Charles brought down the wipe on his sensitive belly. Steve screamed for the first time that night. Steve had never been whipped on the front and didn’t develop a pain tolerance there, “That’s more like it.”

Steve tried to keep in his cries of pain he has until he couldn’t take it anymore and sobbed, “‘m sorry! ‘m sorry! ‘ll be good. Please, just-just stop!”

Henry raised a hand, “I think that’s enough,” He came over to Steve, pulled out a handkerchief and patted the sweat off Steve’s forehead, “I know it hurts, sweet boy, but you have to learn some manners when it comes to clients. Can you do that for me?” Steve’s only response was a whimper and a weak nodded, “Good boy. Now I was going to take photos of your pretty body with Dr. Robertson for my collection but that will have to wait for next week. You’re too messy right now.”

Henry turned to Charles, “Dr. Robertson, would you mind coming in next week at the same time for the photo shoot. I promise the session will be free.”

Charles whipped blood from his hands, “I don’t see why not as long as I get a copy. I could use some dirt of the kid to keep him from telling Sarah.”

Steve was still whimpering and crying when he looked at Charles on last time, betrayal full into his baby blues, “M-Mister, w-why?”

Charles scowled, “A fucks a fuck. Don’t matter who’s a hole. Besides you and Sarah always gotta act so righteous all the time. Thinkin’ you’re better than anyone else. In truth, no one likes filth like ya stinkin' up our church. A broad should always side with the man and you’re shouldn’t 've made it passed the womb from what a pathetic excuse of a man you are. Ya like a cat with how many lives ya have while better children die. Time to knock ya two down a peg.”

Henry pulled out his gold pocket watch, “‘ll get you your hour startin’ now, sir. Sorry for the inconvenience evening.”

Charles turned back to Steve’s broken body with a smug smile, “Let’s see how much of a good fucktoy you are now, Rogers.”

Steve collapsed into the bed at them, wishing he was anywhere but there. Steve floated away again as Charles crawled onto of his body, touching every inch of him with blood-soaked hands. The only thing that ground Steve enough to obedient pull out a rubber and vaseline was the continues sting from the lashing.

Charles was whispering to Steve the whole time, “Gonna make ya my whore. My very own cumdumpster. Ya see my wife neva' given me a suckjob before. Wonder what that’s like. Say, if I give ya a big enough tip will ya suck me off under the benches at mass tomorrow?”

“Fuck, your so tight. Can barely get my fingers in ya. Won’tcha touch yourself for me, sugar?”

“That’s it, fuck that hand of yours. Make a mess of yourself like the slut you are.”

“God, ya sure ya don’t like it? You’re moanin’ like a bitch in heat.”

Charles talked so much that Steve got numb to the backhanded comments and thought about a night dancing with Bucky.

There was a queer bar near Lafayette that served drinks to minors. Steve would’ve tried to keep up with Bucky but he was a lightweight. Bucky would’ve laughed and said he was a stubborn punk. Bucky would pull him on the dance floor where Steve would flounder like a fish out of water helplessly. Steve would try to leave but Bucky would pull him in taking the lead saying _Stevie, ya gotta learn how to lead. Try with me._ And of course, he would’ve stepped on Bucky’s feet a number of times saying _told ya I ain’t cut out for this_. Then, Bucky would’ve rolled his eyes and taken lead with all the fancy dips and spins. No fellas would’ve thought twice about it ‘cause it’s a queer bar. At the end of the night, both would be drunk and climb into Steve’s room using the fire escape so Ma didn’t see them sloshed. They’d get couch cushions on the floor for Bucky to sleep on but he’d always make his way into Steve’s bed somehow. Steve liked that.

Steve thought of this as he floated away from his body that was currently getting fucked by a man he once trusted.

 

* * *

**March 15th, 1931**

“Steve. Steve, time to get up,” Sarah knocked on his door and came in. Steve pulled the sheets over his head, praying he’d disappear. He really didn’t want to go to mass this morning, “Ah, Steven, c’mon. Don’t be trouble this morning.

“Mhm…” Steve grounded, “Steven’s not here.”

Sarah sighed, “Fine, I guess no Sunday pancakes this morning.”

Usually, that was enough to get Steve jumping but not today, “No, Ma. I ain’t feelin’ good.”

Sarah frowned confused, “Still? Do I need to take you to Dr. Robertson?”

“No,” Steve mumbled through the blanket, “Just...just sleep.”

“Steve. You know the rules. If you don’t need doc or meds, you get up. You can’t use sickness as a crutch 'specially on the Sabbath. Now up. Up. Be ready in ten minutes,” Steve heard Sarah’s heels click away and groaned.

Fuck.

 

“Steve, your top buttons are crooked,” Sarah reached over to fix them but Steve batted her hand away.

“I got it,” Steve didn’t want his Ma to see the slashes on his chest that would surely scar.

Steve looked up at good ol’ St. Mathew’s in its pristine glory. Father Forthill was shaking peoples hands and leading them inside. Steve remember there was a time that he found comfort here. Now, it was a place of shame and guilt. If anyone knew he was a whore, Steve would be ostracized from the safe haven. Well, it wasn’t a safe haven anymore. Not with-

“Good morning, Charles. Beatrice,” Sarah smiled and waved over the man Steve feared the most today.

Charles was in his Sunday getup with his wife at his arm, “Hello, Sarah. ‘m so glad the snow storm didn’t stop ya from comin'. Thought it would neva’ end.”

The adults laughed but Steve stayed stock still, literally hiding behind his mother’s skirt. Sarah looked at Steve, baffled, “Steven, what are you doin’? Say hello to Dr. and Mrs. Robertson.”

Steve looked up and saw the kind smile on Charles’s face for years but the facade had been ruined, “Hello, Steven. How are you today?”

Steve couldn’t take it. He was shaking and clamming up, breathing hard. Sarah looked concerned now, “Sweetie?”

Charles bent down, false concern covering his face. He brushed Steve’s fringe out of the way and checked his forehead, “Steven, you're burnin' up. Is everythin'-”

Being touched by this man was the last straw. Steve lurched forward grabbing his stomach and threw up. Bile burned his throat and tasted vile. Charles looked startled and tried to come closer but Steve snapped back, “Don’t touch-” then he was throwing up again.

Sarah rubbed his back through it, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Steve, I didn’t know you were this sick. ‘m so sorry, sweetie. Charles, do you mind helpin' me get him home, please?”

“Sure, Sarah,” again Charles tried to grab at Steve and he jerked back in hysterics, toppling back into the puddle of bile.

“NO!”

Charles flinches away at that, fiending a look of hurt, “Steven, can I help you up?”

“NO! NO! NO!” Steve knew he couldn’t call out Charles without revealing himself but God be damn was he going to voluntarily let this man touch him again.

“Shh, Steven” Sarah hugged her son, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. Let’s just get you home.

 

****

Sarah was worried. Steve’s reaction to Charles scared her. Why was he like that? Had Charle done something to her son? She was going to get answers.

Sarah and other church friends carried Steve home and put him under the covers. Sarah checks and saw Steve’s fever had gone down but he still had cold sweats and the shakes, “Shhh, honey. Sweet pea, it’s okay. Mama’s here,” Sarah helped her boy out of his bile soiled clothes to Steve’s dismay but he was too out of it to notice.

And that’s when she saw them.

Sarah had known about the scars on his wrists and took the knife she had found under Steve’s pillow but there were more. They were gashes all over her poor boys back, thighs, and chest. She recognized them from older negros who came to the hospital. Steven, her poor, sweet angel had been viciously flogged. From the looks of the scars, some happened a while ago and so had been recent, “Oh God, Steve.”

Who would do that to her precious baby boy?! He’s only a child!

Her first thought turned to Joseph. Joseph would beat Steve in front of her all the time they lived together. Her brave boy had always tried to protect her when he was healthy enough. It almost got her poor little Steven killed!

But Joseph was out of there lives….right?

“Ma?” Steve’s voice was so small. It sent her right back to that day at the hospital when her baby’s head was split open. He’d called out for her then too.

“‘m here, sweetie. ‘m here,” Sarah cooed.

She knew she needed to find answers but how would she get them? Sarah knew Steve wouldn’t tell her squat and James wouldn’t either... unless it was important. That’s a thought for another day.

Steve whimpered, calling out for her like a puppy missing it’s mama each time Sarah left the room for food or water, “I gotcha, sweetie. Neva’ lettin’ go.”

 

* * *

**March 21st, 1931**

********

Bucky doesn’t know what’s going on but he will. He’s determined.

Bucky knows something happened during Saturday nights because it’s been forever since Steves gone dancing with him. So Bucky decided, that Saturday, he’d not go dancing with some random girl who he could care less about and instead watch over Stevie.

That night, Bucky waits across from Steve’s apartment complex, watching Steve’s window. The light is on in his room. If it goes off, he’ll make his move. It’s really boring for a couple of hours. Bucky managed to go through a whole pack of smokes. God, why was he so nervous? What’s the worse Steve could really be doing?

Around nine thirty, Steve’s light goes out. Bucky waits a minute to see which way Steve’s leaving. Turns out he was right; Steve took the fire escape. Bucky followed behind Steve through the dark streets of Brooklyn. If Bucky wasn’t trying to be quiet, he’d stomp over to his tiny friend and sock him over the head for not bringing a flashlight or a baseball bat at this time of night. This was fucking Brooklyn for god’s sake not some sissy small town in the middle of Ohio.

Bucky followed Steve’s tracked through the remaining snow up to an old hotel from the roaring twenties. If Bucky didn’t see the orange light from the spinning lobby door, he would've thought it was condemned from the Depression. Watching from the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Steve talking to a silver fox who was smoking in front of Steve. That pissed Bucky off when he saw Steve’s shoulders jump from coughing.

The silver fox guided Steve to the elevator and the two went up. Bucky raced in the yellowed lobby to the elevator, ignoring the hell hob indignant, “'cuse me?!”

Bucky saw the elevator had a dial with an arrow. It were spinning till it landed on the fourth floor.

“Hey, kid!” Bucky turned to a very angry bell hob with the nazzily voice. His name tag read Simon, “What do you think you're doin’ here?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, “I don’t think I like your tone very much, _sir.”_

Simon looked appalled, “Why you little-”

“This _is_ a hotel. I deserve the right to get a room, right? So, how much?”

Simon looked smug, “Twenty bucks a night.”

“Da fuck!?” Bucky shouted, “For this dump? C’mon, Sims, be a pal and say the real price.”

Simon looked annoyed now, “Twenty bucks,” Damnit. Bucky checked his pockets. He had a lighter, an empty Lucky Stripes pack, a nickel, and a little tab of mints, “Look, kid. If ya ain’t got the cash, get the hell out of here before I call security.”

Bucky laughed, “Like a shit place like this has security.”

Simon was turning purple, his voice getting higher. This guy was way too easy, “We _do_ have security and I would let him beat your ass without a second thought!”

Bucky gave a wolfish smile, “Oh, yeah? Prove it before I whip your skinny punk ass.”

Simons’s eye was twitching and he huffed, “Fine. I will,” Simon picked up a phone and dialed into the phone. It was an old piece of shit; the kind that came in two pieces, “Mr. Peterson, Some brat is loitering in the lobby. Can ya send Joe?”

Bucky cracked his knuckles. Whoever Joe was, he could take them.  A few minutes more of bugging the hell out of Simon and the elevator dinged. Out stepped out the silver fox. Simon looked confused, “Mr. Peterson, what’cha doin’ here? Where’s Joe?”

Mr. Peterson pulled out a cigar and took a drag, “Joe’s with one of my girls at the moment. Ya know how he is,” then he turned to Bucky with a curious look on his face, “You the one botherin' poor Simon here?”

Bucky jutted his chin, “Yeah, ya gonna fight me, Peterson?”

“Please, call me Henry,” Mr. Peterson- Henry smiles, “Not everyday a strapping young man walked into my domain willingly.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to be puzzled, “...thank...you?...come again?”

Henry smirked, “There’s only one reason young lads come to me; for work.”

The way this guy speaks makes Bucky’s skin crawl. Bucky shouldn’t ask but he does, “...what kind of work?”

Henry looked enthusiastic, “The most pleasurable kind,” he leaned forward to Bucky’s height, “I usually prefer my boys to look like dames but, god, yer so pretty. I could make an exception.”

Bucky’s feels like he just jumped into the Hudson and puts ten feet between him and Henry in about two seconds. Bucky bolts out of that place. Holy shit, that was a pimp! He was NOT getting involved this any of that shit.

Which begs the question; what was actual fuck had Steve gotten himself into?

 

****

Henry came back into room four twelve relatively quickly with a bemused smile on his face. Steve doesn’t want to know why Henry is happy but is glad Henry is that way. This week Steve will be Henry’s sweet boy. He’ll pose for these godforsaken pictures with Charles. He’ll let Charles fuck him at any angle.

And he’ll float away. Think of another night with his best friend that’ll never be.

 

* * *

 

**March 22nd, 1931**

Even if Steve wasn’t presently there for his rape being photographed for some ungodly porno magazine, he still didn’t want to see the man who did the fucking. Therefore, he refused to go to church again. Steve told his Ma he was sick again but Steve knew Sarah could tell he was lying but was glad she didn’t push.

“I need to go, Steve.”

Steve hugged his Ma tighter and whined, “No.”

Sarah sighed, finger combing Steve’s hair as he laid his head on his lap, “I know something's goin’ on, Steve. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine but talk to someone. Talk to Father Forthill. You like him, right?”

Steve snuggled more in her lap but nodded in response.

“Okay, I’ll ask if he could meet you after school tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

**March 23rd, 1931**

“Forgive me, Father. For I have sinned.”

Father Forthill look up from his spectacles, “Now, Steven, that’s not why you’re here to see me. Is it?”

Steve fidgeted in his chair. How was he supposed to go on saying any of the things he’s done, “I...I’d feel better if this was confession, Father.”

Forthill sighed, “Very well. What would you wished to confess, my son?”

Steve bit his lower lip, not daring to look at Forthill.

“Steven,” Forthill whispered softly, “Whatever you had done, God will for understand. _If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness._ John 1:9.”

Steve nodded, breathed it a breathe, “I’ve...I’ve missed mass...on purpose.”

Forthill raised his bushy eyebrows, “Steven, that is hardly a sin but how about you tell me why you’d done so?”

“It’s because of someone there...they hurt me, Father.”

Forthill leaned back, “Honestly, Steven, you get into so many fights. While I don’t approve, I don’t see how that could keep you from mass,” Steve fidgeted again, breathing going wheezing. Forthill rubbed his back, “It’s okay, son. Breathe. What makes this time different?”

“I...I don’t mean he hurt me in a fight. He _hurt_ me another way.”

Forthill was quiet for a second, adjusting his spectacles, “I see. And this man is a member of the congregation.”

Steve nodded, “It’s my fault, really.”

“ _Steven,_ ” Forthill scowled, “Something like that is never your fault. You're just a child. _Only the man who has done this shall die. Do nothing to the woman; she has committed no sin deserving death._  Deuteronomy 22:25-26”

Steve lets out a sad laugh, “But I ain’t no woman.”

“I feel God feels this way about the victim even if they are a man,” Forthill closes his Bible, “But what makes you feel this is your fault.”

Steve couldn’t look at him, “I..I got caught up in the wrong crowd. I didn’t want to but I didn’t have a choice. I’m forced to lay with men. They make me do...things to them and myself.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably under Forthill’s gaze, “How do you feel about these acts, Steven?”

Steve didn’t want to answer but he must speak the truth in God’s house, “I hate them. I hate them all...but…”

Forthill pressed him further, “But what?”

Steve was crying, “I don’t know! Sometimes, I enjoy it.”

Forthill sighed, “You are young and inexperienced. It is merely your body adapting to something new.”

“But I’ve lain with other men!” Steve continued to cry, “I know what the Bible says! _If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them._ L-Leviticus 18 20:13...I think. I don’t know what to do! Just condemn me already.”

Forthill didn’t say anything for a long time. He just let Steve cry out his fit. When Steve had nothing left but sniffles, Forthill spoke gently, “You know quite well how the church feels on this matter but I am not going to condemn a child, Steven. _See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that in heaven their angels always see the face of my Father who is in heaven._ Matthew 18:10. And you, my son, are merely a child. Your elders have led you astray but you understand that they are wrong. You’ve come here seeking damnation but I will offer you redemption. Believe it or not, you are not the first child I’ve heard this story from. I know this isn’t what you want to hear but you must find a way to survive through this strife and keep your faith. You must also learn to forgive the men who have hurt you and not let that keep you from hearing the word of our Lord.”

Steve sniffed and wiped his nose, “Can’tcha just say to cite the rosary a few times.”

Forthill chuckled, “If the path to salvation was that easy, Jesus wouldn’t need to die for our sins. Now resight “Ava Maria” with me, please.”

As Steve recounted to old chant, he didn’t know how to feel. God was supposed to hate him. Forthill was supposed to be disgusted in him. Why wasn’t that happening?

 

* * *

 

**March 28th, 1931**

Bucky nervously threw out the stub of his old smoke and lit another like he was a fucking chimney. He’d kept the whole incident with Henry to himself for a week but Bucky couldn’t take it anymore, so he’d decided to catch Steve in the act.

That night, he followed Steve out of the fire escape and only let him make it to Seneca Avenue before he bluntly grabbing Steve’s shoulder and spinning him around, “Ya know, it ain’t smart to walk these streets alone, pal.”

Steve yelped and tried to swing at Bucky. Okay, maybe Bucky’s introduction was the result of piss poor planning. Bucky grabbed the tiny first aimed at his chin, “Hey, punk ass! It’s Buck.”

Steve blinked to adjust his eyes to the light and the shock and horror on his face was evident enough, “Buck? What the hell are ya doin’?”

“Keeping you from eva’ goin’ back to that pervert,” Bucky grabbed Steve by the scruff of his coat and immediately redirected the smaller boy back towards the safety of his home.

Steve started flailing around like a wild animal, “What? Hey! Let me go!”

“Not till you get back under the covers,” Bucky growls and continues to march onward, “I ain’t lettin’ that pimp touch ya eva' again, even if I gotta tie ya down to make sure.”

“No!” Steve screamed, “No, Buck! You don’t understand.”

“I think I know enough,” Bucky sneered making Steve look at him with those bright blue eyes, “You’re a hooker, ain’tcha?” The blonde freezes in confirmation.

Bucky rubbed his face in part annoyance part to get the snow out, “Goddammit, punk! Out of all the shit you’ve ever pulled this takes the cake. I don’t know if I wanna know how you even got into this mess. I mean- what the actual fuck, Steve!?”

Steve’s frail body sags in Bucky’s grip but stays silent. Bucky sighs and yanks Steve up, “Get up, dumbass.”

Steve got to his feet and stared daggers at him. It would’ve been threatened if he actually reached Bucky’s chin, “Let me go.”

“Nodda chance,” Bucky yanked all sixty pounds of squirming blonde back towards his apartment, “Stop wriggling, ya ain’t gettin’ nowhere,” but Steve wouldn’t stop.

He was kicking in his arms and manages to get Bucky in a stomach. Bucky wheezed and his grip slipped enough for Steve to weasel out and wobble away in the snow. Bucky’s legs were longer so he managed to get his arms around him and toppled into the snow. Bucky rolled over so his back met the cold wet ground as he held Steve into his chest until the fucking stinker bit his arm, “Ow, fuck!”

Bucky let go but grabbed onto Steve’s skinny ankle as he turned and Steve fell. Bucky yanked Steve up by his shirt and had to keep himself from strangling the little guy, “Don’t ya fuckin’ do that again, Steve.”

“Then stop fuckin’ grabbin’ me!” Steve snapped back.

“If ya stopped runnin’ away, I wouldn’t have t'a,” Steve still wouldn't stop moving, choking himself, “Steve, stop. Ya gonna hurt yer’self.”

“I can’t! I gotta be there. I can’t be late again,” Steve wheezed.

“Why?! Whateva’ that pimp told ya, it ain’t true. It ain’t worth the money.”

“I don’t get no money, ya dumbass,” Steve was still pulling but Bucky was loosening his grip.

“Wait what? Ya ain’t gettin’ money.”

Steve stopped moving and mumbling, “No...well, not less I steal it with...tips.”

“But that’s why hookers do it: for money.”

Steve gave him that kicked puppy dog look, “Do ya honestly think I’d be doin’ this if I gotta choice, Buck?”

The gears began to weer in Bucky’s brain. Steve wasn’t doing this willingly. Someone was making Steve sell his body and was taking all the money. And if Steve didn’t want to do that, then that means...oh no. No. No. No.

Bucky was only brought back by the sound of Steve choking in his shaking fists curled about his collar. Bucky let go like Steve was burning him. He couldn’t look at Steve but he growled, “ _Who?_ ”

“What?”

“Who’s doin’ this to ya?” Bucky repeated, “I know that pimp Henry is one of them but who else?”

Steve looked down, “No one. Just him.”

“Bullshit, you don’t get scared easy and that ol’ man ain’t that fierce.”

Steve gave a sad laugh, “You’d be surprised?”

“‘M not jokin’ around, Steve. Who is it?”

Steve bit his pink lips, “.........my dad.”

Bucky went white with rage, “That fucker’s still in yer’ life?!”

Steve nodded. He didn’t seem angry, just defeated, “Yeah. Showed up about a year ago for a Ma but I came home first. If I don’t do this, he’ll make her…”

Bucky tried to come up with words. He felt nauseous, “That’s...that’s so fucked up. ‘m gonna be sick.”

Poor Steve flinched, “‘m sorry. I know ya must hate me or think ‘m a fairy slut.”

It was Bucky’s turn to flinch but he reached for he, wanting to cup his cheeks but directed his hands towards his shoulders, “Wait? No, no. Stevie. Stevie, no. Neva’ you. It’s your dad ‘m disgusted at. Just tell me, is this why you tried to kill yer’self?”

Steve nodded but his eyes were bright with tears.

Bucky brought Steve into his chest, feeling the little guy go rigid, “Steve, it’s okay. ‘ll make it okay. I promise you. I know I can’t stop ya tonight but ‘m not lettin’ ya walk alone.”

 

Bucky walks with Steve to the ‘20s hotel but is forced to wait outside. Fucking Simon. Well, Bucky had time to kill so he went through a Lucky Stripe pack thinking of all the terrible things he wants to do to Henry and Joseph. And the things he will do. Bucky will free Steve.

Whatever it takes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope yall liked the drawing I did at the beginning. I wanted a sweet Sarah and Steve photo though Steve looks younger than I meant. Oh well. Also, if there are errors I'm sorry. As of writing this, I am very tired.
> 
> ***Update (July 28th, 2019): I had had writers block for part of this story and have taken on shorter stories to help my writing skills. If anyone wishes to give advice or work as my beta, write a comment below and you'll be given credit in the next chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the slam poetry the title is based on:
> 
>  
> 
> [Doc Luben's "14 Lines from Love Letters or Suicide Notes"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iy4cEW15SdE)
> 
>    
> 1\. Don't freak out.
> 
> 2\. We've both known this has been coming for a long time.
> 
> 3\. I've been staying awake at night wondering if I should tell you.
> 
> 4\. I bought the kind of crackers you like to eat, they are in the hall cupboard.
> 
> 5\. Now that we have watched all the episodes of 'True Blood' I do not know what else to do next
> 
> 6\. I always imagined this would happen without warning like suddenly on a ocean cliff side, but this is the kind of thing where waiting for the time to be right would just mean waiting forever.
> 
> 7\. I've just been too afraid for too long
> 
> 8\. I came home on Tuesday and found all of the chairs that I own stacked in a tower in the center of my kitchen. I don't know how long they have been like that, but it could only be me that did it. its the kind of thing a ghost might do to prove to the living that he is still there. I am haunting my own apartment.
> 
> 9\. My grandmother was still alive when I was 5 years old, and she asked me to check and see if the iron was hot enough yet, so I pressed my hand against it and it was red and screaming for hours.  
> 25 years later, she would still sometimes apologize. In the middle of conversations, "I feel so bad about making you touch the iron," she'd say as though it had just happened. I can not imagine how we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't say until it was too late. But how else do you tell if something is hot but to touch it?
> 
> 10\. I keep imagining my furniture in your apartment.
> 
> 11\. I wonder how many likes this would get on Facebook.
> 
> 12\. My dad always used to tell the same joke, but I can't remember the punchline.
> 
> 13\. I was 8 years old and it took 3 weeks -- three 8 year old weeks, imagine -- to gather everything that I would need to be Batman: Rope, boomerangs, a Mardi Gras mask with beads cut off. I couldn't find a cave near my house so I buried them all in a bundle under the ivy.  
> For years after, I tried to find that spot again. The ivy grew too fast, I searched in so many spots, it seemed impossible that I had missed one, but I never found it.  
> How can something be there, and then not be there?  
> How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?
> 
> 14\. I never had the courage to buy bright green sheets. I wanted them but thought they were too brash even with no one but me to see them. I bought a set yesterday and put them on the bed. I knew that you would like them.
> 
>  
> 
>  


End file.
